


time cast a spell on you (you won't forget me)

by shipstershipsters



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, cordelia is blind in a lot of this, like extremely slow burn, slow slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29234304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipstershipsters/pseuds/shipstershipsters
Summary: She wonders, night after night, why Misty is the first thing she'd want to see if she woke up the next day with her vision back. She tells herself that it's normal to care for a friend like that. Only, she's never even cared for her husband like that.(or, cordelia adjusts to life without sight as misty adjusts to life after being burned alive, and they find solace in each other. slow, slow burn. )
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 22
Kudos: 84





	1. my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my very first AHS fic! Just finished watching Apocalypse and if that didn't get your Foxxay heart warm, I don't know what will. Anyways, this will be a lengthy, lengthy, multi-chapter fic carrying us through the highs and lows of our two favorite witches' blossoming relationship and the challenges that lie within it. Let me know what you think!

The first time Cordelia Goode meets Misty Day, she can’t see her. 

Well, she can see her, through the fragments of her mind’s eye, but she can’t really see her. She can see the images in her head that flash before her scarred eyelids of what Misty Day saw when she was burned at the stake. She can briefly recall the old picture that was plastered across newspapers once she’d gone missing. She can see bits, fragments, and that’s the only way she can put a blurry, unclear face to the name. 

“You’re Misty Day,” she murmurs, her hand still clasped between the younger witch’s own. “You were burned at the stake.”

She doesn’t get to witness the girl’s reaction, when she tells her that she’s safe now. That she’ll be protected here. That places like this academy were made for people like Misty Day.

But she can feel the relief that floods Misty’s body, surging from her chest through her fingertips as she squeezes Cordelia’s hand tighter. 

“Thank you, really,” the girl gasps with a southern twang. “Can my friend stay, also?”

And suddenly, just like that, the closest person to a mother Cordelia has ever had is back and in her arms again, and things are good. Myrtle Snow is back in the coven; and this Misty Day has brought her back. 

Cordelia doesn’t think she has it in her heart to thank her enough. 

* * *

“Mornin’, Miss Cordelia.”

The closeness of the voice behind her, piercing the ever-so-peaceful silence Cordelia has grown to enjoy in the mornings, makes the headmistress gasp and drop the cup of coffee she’s only just begun to pour. 

“Misty,” she gasps, stepping away from the counter, away from the liquid that had just begun to creep down the front of her skirt. “Goodness, you startled me.”

“I’m sorry,” the younger witch says, and Cordelia can feel hair brush against her calves, can hear the clinking of the ceramic mug against the porcelain tile of the kitchen floor. “Didn’t mean to scare ya,” the girl continues, her voice lower now, and Cordelia assumes she’s cleaning up the mess. 

Cordelia bends down, carefully, grasping at the cabinets to ensure she’s steady as she fumbles for a rag hanging from the oven, trying her best to blot it over the liquid settling on the tile. 

“It isn’t your fault. I’m not used to company this early in the morning,” she admits as she wipes at the cool tile. “The girls enjoy their beauty sleep.”

“And you don’t enjoy yours?” Misty asks casually, reaching over to toss the broken shards of the mug into the garbage. 

“I like the quiet of the morning,” Cordelia shrugs, wiping the last of the spill up with the cotton cloth. 

“I don’t mean to intrude,” the girl murmurs, with that same sweet, southern twang, and Cordelia frowns. 

“No, no, Misty,” Cordelia soothes, reaching out and finding the younger girl’s hand, clasping them in hers. “You didn’t. I’m glad you’re here.”

There’s silence, and Cordelia wonders if she’s smiling, wonders if she’s concerned. It’s one of the things she misses about being able to see. She can’t read body language anymore, and she doesn’t know if she’s said the wrong thing.

“Thank you,” Misty murmurs quietly, her calloused hands squeezing Cordelia’s in a way that Cordelia could only describe as hopeful. “It’s just- it’s been a long journey, to get here. If here is where I’m s’posed to be.” 

“This house was built for people like you, Misty. Girls with certain abilities. Yours are just as special as any of theirs,” Cordelia insists as she tries to steady her hands, tries to naturally fumble for the coffee pot again. She’s not used to this. Her own kitchen feels like a strange place. Nothing seems familiar, and the added pressure of a new witch watching her just makes her fumble a little more. She tries to shrug off the feeling that she’s being judged. 

Misty doesn’t comment again, not after Cordelia finishes, but Cordelia does hear the sound of coffee being poured. Mugs clink, liquid pools, and before she knows it, a warm mug is being gently pressed into her hand. 

“Here. Don’t know how you take it, figured you might like yours black.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Cordelia tries not to make too much of the gesture. It’s coffee, she should be perfectly capable of pouring herself a cup of coffee, she shouldn't need anyone’s help. She’s the headmistress, for heaven's sake. Who was supposed to take care of the girls if she couldn’t even make herself coffee in the morning?

“It’s no trouble. I was makin’ myself a cup anyways,” Misty drawls again, and Cordelia relaxes a little at that. 

A silence passes between them as Cordelia takes a grateful sip of the warm liquid, feeling her nerves diminish as the heat fills her belly. She’d take this in strides. 

It would get easier.

“Do you think,” Misty begins, her voice pulling Cordelia from her thoughts. “Later, do you think you could show me around the house a bit? Zoe said to make myself at home, but my momma raised me polite, well most of the time, and I hate feelin’ like i’m intrudin’ on a strange space,” Misty finishes. Cordelia can hear the slight twinge of insecurity in her tone. It reminds her of her own, the one she reserves for Fiona. It hits too close to home. 

“Of course. Let me finish this coffee, and we’ll get started.”

* * *

Water splashes on Cordelia’s blouse for the third time in the last hour, and she bites her lip to hold back a few choice words. 

It’s not like there’s an instructor there with her, showing her how to be blind, she thinks bitterly as she reaches for the towel discarded on a table in the greenhouse, patting her shirt with it as gingerly as she can. She can’t tell if it’s stained- can only feel the fabric clinging to her stomach. 

She sighs, and her shoulders droop as she leans against the table and tries to collect herself. 

It’s harder than Cordelia had expected it would be. She can’t even water her fucking plants. 

“Cordelia, dear, breathe.” 

It’s Myrtle’s voice- of course Myrtle has come, seeking her out, and Cordelia wants to be frustrated, but she can’t. Myrtle is the only thing close to a mother that she’s had, and right now all she really needs is the comforting warmth that family can provide. 

“I can’t,” she chokes, trying to fight off the floodgates from opening. When she feels frail arms around her, she sinks into them, feeling some of the tension lift from her shoulders. 

“You’ll learn, Delia. You’ll blossom into this new gift like a beautiful flower, and you’ll grow stronger than ever before,” Myrtle insists, rubbing circles on her back. 

“It’s not a gift,” Cordelia mutters in spite, shutting her eyes, not that it made a difference, and letting her head rest completely on Myrtle’s shoulder. “I’m weaker than ever before. I don’t know how I’m supposed to take care of this coven in the state I’m in. Those girls would be better off without me, now.”

“You know that isn’t true, my sweet girl,” Myrtle soothes, her hands running through Cordelia’s golden locks. “This is a challenge, and you’re a Goode, despite what name your marriage to that dreadful man has given you. You’ll rise above it all.”

Cordelia wants to believe her. She just doesn’t know if she can. 

* * *

Misty’s settled in. In fact, she’s grown comfortable enough around the house that one day, Cordelia ventures out to the greenhouse and finds a familiar voice humming in the humid room. 

“Misty?” The headmistress calls, her forehead slightly crinkling. She’d shown Misty the greenhouse, of course, but hadn’t mentioned much about it otherwise. The younger girl had been excited, having grown her own garden back in the swamp where she came from, but she hadn’t mentioned it again since. 

“Oh, Miss Cordelia!” 

Misty’s voice is bright and cheery, resembling the younger witch’s personality all too well. Over the two weeks Misty has stayed at the academy, Cordelia’s learned quite a few things about the necromancer. She was a blunt person, that southern accent never doing enough to hide how she felt about anyone or anything, and she had a heart of gold. Her honesty always surprised Cordelia, especially when it was about the other girls of the coven. (So far, Misty and Madison weren’t getting along all that well. )

“I hope you don’t mind,” the girl drawls, and Cordelia can hear her voice getting closer, footsteps approaching. “I just couldn’t help myself. It’s so beautiful outside today, and I was missin’ my garden an awful lot, and your greenhouse, it was just singin’ to me. I get real bored without tendin’ to my plants, and I haven’t been down there in a while.”

“You’re absolutely welcome to whatever you’d like in here, Misty,” Cordelia reassures her without a second thought. How foolish of her not to invite Misty in sooner. Of course the witch had a flaming green thumb, her powers allowed her to resurrect the _dead_. 

“Thank you, Miss Cordelia,” Misty murmurs again, and Cordelia feels a hand glide down her arm, squeezing her hand quickly. She smiles, squeezing Misty’s back. 

“Your plants, they’re real pretty. Healthy, too,” Misty continues, and Cordelia can hear her busying herself around the greenhouse. “You take good care of ‘em.”

“I try to,” Cordelia replies, letting her hand trail along the table until she found her bearings and leaned against the wood for support. “It’s a little more difficult, now. Pruning them, gathering what I need for my potions, it all requires precision that I’m afraid I just don’t have yet without my sight.”

Some of the other girls in the house liked to steer clear of the topic of her blindness, like it was a dirty word. Like it was more comfortable for everyone else to pretend it didn’t exist. It wasn’t. It wasn’t a dirty word, and Cordelia wasn’t ashamed she’d lost her vision, she was just upset she couldn’t enjoy life the way she used to. Having to listen to her girls dance around the subject and treat her like she was fragile didn’t help. However, Misty had never given her the same response the other girls had, and she appreciated it more than Misty probably knew. 

“Well, you can use my eyes anytime you’d like,” Misty offers, and Cordelia laughs at the implication. “I’d still prefer to keep ‘em in my head, of course. And I don’t have a real delicate touch, growin’ up where I did and all, but I’d be happy to help. Zoe speaks real high of your potions out here. I’d like to learn ‘em.”

“You cared for your own garden. I’m sure you’ll know exactly what to do,” Cordelia reassures her. “However, it takes a lot of tedious work. I don’t expect-”

“None of that expectin’ business,'' Misty interrupts, her light, airy tone instantly putting Cordelia at ease. “I want to help. This is probably the only kind of magic I like doin’.”

“I suppose as headmistress I shouldn’t try to discourage you from practicing magic,” Cordelia laughs, giving into the younger girl’s friendly persistence. “I’d be happy for you to join me out here, Misty. We can start now, if you’d like that.”

“I would.” 

Cordelia can hear the smile in her voice- she just can’t see it. She wonders, briefly, what Misty looks like, when she smiles. 

The thought passes as soon as Misty’s voice breaks her free from it; inquiring about the abilities of one of her more exotic succulents in the corner. It’s one of the ones she’d planned on propagating and using in a potion, one of the ones she’d been unable to do herself. 

Cordelia smiles, breathing in the earthy air of her greenhouse. 

It’s nice to be back where she belongs.   


* * *

It’s not all fun and games. It takes Cordelia a few more days to realize Misty’s struggling just as much as she is. 

It’s a cool summer night, the sun is just setting and Cordelia has missed being able to see the colors spreading across the sky. She’s sitting on the porch swing with Misty, listening to the young witch excitedly talk about the swirls of pink across the dusky horizon, and she feels her heart sink a little at the memory of all the sunsets she’d seen before she lost her sight. She wonders if she’ll ever see a sunset again. 

“Miss Cordelia, you would’ve loved the sky back at my swamp,” Misty continues to gush, and Cordelia can feel the swing bounce underneath them a bit from the other girl’s excitement. “I was right out on the river, I would just sit out there, on the dock, and watch the sunset across the water and the sky. Felt like I was in my own little world down there. It was real nice.”

“That sounds beautiful, Misty,” Cordelia replies, trying to force a smile. She wonders what she looks like in Misty’s eyes. She wonders how scarred the skin around her eyes is, if it makes it difficult for the younger witch to look at her. Do _any_ of them look at her anymore?

“What’s wrong?”

The innocent question pulls her from her thoughts and for a moment Cordelia curses her own self-pity. It’s a beautiful night, Misty is clearly enjoying herself, and all Cordelia can focus on is her own problems. 

“Nothing,” Cordelia lies, trying to push aside herself for a moment to focus on the present. “I was just trying to imagine the sky tonight.”

It’s not entirely a lie, but it still makes her feel guilty when Misty shifts closer to her on the swing, like she’s finally getting serious. 

“Well, it’s gettin’ darker out, but there’s still some pink streaks,” Misty explains, and Cordelia does close her eyes, now, trying to imagine the picture Misty is painting with her words. “It’s kind of that dark blue-grey all over the sky now, but you know those trees on the edge of the fence, above those there’s still a few slivers of pink. That real hot pink, you know, not the faded kind. Back home, when the sky looked like this, my momma used to tell me, ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.”

“I haven’t heard that before,” Cordelia says, tilting her head as she ponders the phrase. 

“She had a lotta strange sayin’s like that one. All it meant was that a pretty sunset meant a nice day ahead tomorrow. Never bought much into it myself, but she was damn near never wrong.”

“She sounds like a nice woman,” Cordelia offers, and suddenly feels like it’s the wrong thing to have said when the swing stops rocking. 

‘She was."

In that moment, Cordelia realizes she doesn’t know anything about Misty’s family, and a million questions flood her head. She knows Misty was burned at the stake and that her family made a few announcements asking for the city’s help searching for their daughter. A part of her wondered why Misty had never mentioned going back to her family, telling them she was alive, that she was safe. Maybe it wasn’t something Misty wanted to go back to. 

“I loved her an awful lot,” Misty says, next, like she’s reading Cordelia’s mind, and she ends the sentence with a choked up sob. 

“Oh, _Misty_.”

Thoughts about her own blindness are gone as Cordelia’s natural instincts take over and she scoots closer to the young witch on the wooden swing, turning slightly and wrapping her arms around the girl’s shoulders. She’s just doing what feels natural; doesn’t think about it much, doesn’t realize that she’s never hugged Misty before and wonders if she’s the kind of person who likes that. 

But her instinct seems to pay off, because Misty practically melts into her arms. A mess of blonde curls is launched into her arms, and Cordelia turns her head accordingly, nestling her head in Misty’s neck as the younger girl rests hers on Cordelia’s shoulder. Misty’s body is trembling lightly, like she’s trying to fight off tears. Cordelia knows the feeling all too well. 

It’s the wrong time to be thinking about such things, but Cordelia wonders what Misty looks like now more than ever as she holds the young witch and gently rubs her back, rocking her back and forth in a soothing embrace. All she could see with her gift of Sight was blurry images of a young, pale witch in a nightgown being burned alive. Now she knows Misty’s got long, curly hair, knows Misty’s thin but strong. She can feel the muscles of her back, can feel her broad shoulders that her cheek is currently resting on. 

“Thank you,” Misty whispers into her neck, in a voice much quieter than the one she normally uses. “Nobody’s ever, I mean…. just, thank you.”

Cordelia doesn’t pry. Right now, she doesn’t feel like she’s meant to, yet. What Misty needs right now is a friend, and Cordelia vows to be that. 

She holds Misty tighter against her and shuts her eyes, breathing in the fragrance of lavender and eucalyptus. Whether she’ll admit it to herself or not, it’s been a while since she’s held someone who wasn’t her Aunt Myrtle or her ex husband. It’s nice. It feels good to be needed. Cordelia feels a sense of purpose. 

For the first time since she lost her sight, Cordelia forgets how upset she is about it and just lets herself breathe. 

* * *

They find a routine.

Misty’s an early riser, much like Cordelia always has been herself. The presence of another in the kitchen when she’s making coffee no longer bothers Cordelia, or scares her. In fact, she appreciates the help, though she’ll never say it. It still sounds too shameful to admit that she needs the help in the first place. 

Often times, when Cordelia makes her way downstairs right at the brink of dawn, Misty is already downstairs, clinking around cups and plates and humming to herself. Cordelia’s grown to enjoy the sound of her humming. She wonders what Misty would sound like if she sang. 

“Mornin’, Miss Cordelia,” is what Misty says every time Cordelia rounds the corner to enter the kitchen, right on cue. Seconds later, a hot cup of coffee is always pressed into her hands. 

Misty seems to understand that Cordelia doesn’t have the natural energy the younger witch does. Although they’re both morning people, Misty’s practically bursting at the seams with energy before even touching her coffee. Cordelia doesn’t even think she needs the coffee, but Misty still makes it every morning anyways, sharing her first cup with the headmistress and waking up together in the quiet of the morning. 

As she sips her coffee, Cordelia lets herself relax into the chair, listening to the sound of Misty humming from the other end of the kitchen. It’s a familiar tune, a song Cordelia had never listened to before, but had grown to enjoy hearing from Misty’s lips many times in the early morning. 

She finds herself quietly humming along, before she even realizes it, and Misty laughs. 

“You like Stevie as much as I do?”

This draws a laugh from Cordelia as well- because really, she didn’t think anyone could like Stevie Nicks as much as Misty Day. But, it seems the younger girl is rubbing off on her already. 

“To tell you the truth, Misty, I haven’t heard much of her music. You just happen to hum this one quite a bit. It’s catchy.”

“Well, you’re missin’ out. This one’s Rhiannon. One of my favorites. Always felt so free, listenin’ to it back home at the swamp. You ever listen to a song and feel like it’s singin’ to you so much that all you can do is play it over and over again?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Cordelia answers honestly, letting her mug rest on the wooden table for the time being. “I didn’t listen to music much growing up. I always had my nose in a book, and that was distracting enough.”

“What about now, that you can’t read like you used to?”

It’s blunt, but Cordelia doesn’t mind. Misty’s always blunt and Cordelia appreciates that about her. She knows the younger girl well enough by now to know she doesn’t mean it maliciously, she’s just curious. Still, it reminds her of what she’s missing out on, now that she’s lost her sight. 

“I suppose I have more time to listen,” Cordelia finally says, trying to calm the bitterness that threatens to find its way into her tone. Misty’s just being nice, just making conversation. 

“Well, what did you used to like to read?”

The question lifts Cordelia’s spirit momentarily. “When Fiona brought me here, the only books they had in the library downstairs were the older editions of many classic novels. I used to shut myself off, down in that library, and read with a flashlight for hours on end. Jane Austen’s always been one of my favorite authors. Pride and Prejudice was the first thing I read when I was here.”

“I remember them tryin’ to get us to read that, back in grade school,” Misty comments, and Cordelia hears the sound of a chair being pulled out next to her. A bare foot brushes her own as Misty sits down, adjusting herself to sit cross-legged in the chair. Cordelia can feel the younger girl’s knee poking at her own thigh as she sits properly in her own chair. “I never liked readin’ much. I was real bad at it, at first, and the other kids made fun of me for it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I went home and learned. My momma taught me more than my teacher did. We had a real small school down there, too many kids for the poor teacher all by herself.”

Misty had mentioned her mother again, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Cordelia found herself curious again, about Misty’s mother, about her family, about her previous life. She just didn’t know how to press the question further without seeming insensitive. Funny, that Misty was one of the most upfront, honest people she knew, and she was worried about disrupting her the most. 

“May I ask you a personal question, Misty?”

“Course you can. We’re friends, aren’t we?” The younger girl laughs, and a pleasantly warm feeling fades through Cordelia’s body. Friends. Her girls didn’t often call her that, they had other choice words for her at times, but Misty seemed to acknowledge her as something entirely different than just a headmistress. 

“Does your family know you’re alive now?”

The room goes quiet. Cordelia can only hear the slight creaking of wood as Misty sits restlessly in the chair besides hers. She feels the knee Misty has pressed against her thigh stiffen. 

She wonders if she should’ve kept the question to herself. 

“They don’t,” Misty replies, and it’s in a much quieter tone than she normally uses. “Didn’t think it would do them much good to know, bein’ that they were part of the church that burned me alive.”

Cordelia swallows hard. She can still see it when she touches Misty, sometimes- she can see it in an oh-so-blurry vision, a young girl’s arms being strung up on an old construction crane with tree branches underneath, soaked in gasoline. It’s a crude way to go. She wonders if Misty knows she can hear her crying out her last words. 

“Your own family did that to you?”

“Well, they weren’t there that night. But it was all their friends, all the people who’d practically been raisin’ me alongside them. I don’t think they would’a stopped ‘em if they were there.”

“I take it they didn’t know about your magic, then.”

Misty shrugs, and Cordelia feels her knee start shifting again. She takes her hand from where it’s clasped primly on the table and places it on Misty’s knee gently, letting her fingers rub soothing circles into the smooth skin. They’re friends, now. 

“Nah, they didn’t. My brother did, maybe. But mom an’ dad, I didn’t tell ‘em. You know, that church, I loved it so much growin’ up. Always made me feel so welcome, and it’s where I met every friend I ever had. I just couldn’t help myself out there, I had to bring that bird back to life,” Misty explains, and Cordelia nods, because she’s trying to see what Misty’s seeing, now. 

She can see the silhouette of curls in the sun, a long, yellow dress, hovering over a dead bird in the grass. She can see the bird’s wings begin to flutter, can see the magic pouring out of Misty as she resurrects the creature. 

She can see the shadows of bystanders, flocking towards her. 

“They didn’t like that much. Thought I was some sort of AntiChrist devil-worshipper,” Misty explained, and Cordelia can hear her voice crack. “You know, cause all the signs in the Bible, of the end times. All they could see was the demons raisin’ up the dead to try and prove they’re Christ himself. But all I wanted to do was just bring that poor innocent creature back to life.”

Cordelia waits, not wanting to interrupt. Misty hasn’t opened up like this before, not to her. She wonders if she has to anyone else. This is too much to bottle up. 

“I don’t hate ‘em, Miss Cordelia,” Misty finishes, her voice holding the weight of a thousand words. “It was just awful, feelin’ my skin burn off my body like that,” she croaks, and next thing Cordelia knows, there’s a hand encompassing the one she’d placed reassuringly on Misty’s thigh, and a head of soft curls has laid on her shoulder. 

This is the second time they’ve really hugged, not that Cordelia is counting. It’s just that she’s never been a very touchy person, not even with Hank. Misty, however, seems very tactile, seems to welcome any touch, no matter how small. 

So Cordelia leans into it, lets her fingers curl around Misty’s hand, lets her shoulder support Misty’s head and rests her own head on top of it. She sits, quietly, with Misty like that, not wanting to push her any farther, not wanting to worsen the situation. Already, Cordelia feels guilty for bringing the topic up. It wasn’t her place, after all. It wasn’t anyone’s, really.

They sit like that as the early morning sun begins to flicker in through the dusty windows. As the time passes, Cordelia allows herself to feel angry, feels that familiar bitterness rise in her chest, but it’s not directed to her sight. The scalding feeling latches onto the thoughts of Misty’s own family knowing her fate, wraps itself around the fact that they knew and didn’t stop it, and boils. 

Misty relaxes into her further, tucked into her side, and Cordelia watches the vision flash through her eyes again at the touch. 

Sometimes, the gift of Sight feels more like a burden. 

* * *

“What’s your favorite flower, Miss Cordelia?”

They’re working in the greenhouse together late one night, and Misty’s been buzzing around, full of questions. Very few of them were related to the actual spell they were supposed to be focusing on, but Cordelia found that she didn’t seem to mind one bit. She enjoyed the company. It gave her some sense of normalcy in the midst of the haze she’d been in for the past month. 

“Hmm. Asking the tough questions now, are we?” She laughs, and hears Misty giggle in appreciation. The sound is pretty; her southern accent still manages to come out even without words. Cordelia finds the laughter contagious. 

“It’s hard to narrow down,” Cordelia finally says, patiently grinding down the herbs Misty has helped her gather in an old wooden bowl. “A flower used in arrangements?” 

“Sure. Whatever you think is the prettiest,” Misty replies, continuing to fuss around the seedlings that Cordelia had also requested they pot today. 

“There’s nothing more classic than a rose,” Cordelia decides as she carefully slides the ground herbs in the bottom of the bowl into a small container, joining the others she’d ground in the last hour. “Simple, but I do find them beautiful.”

“And?”

“Well, what makes you think there’s an ‘and’?” 

“Just seems like you’re holdin’ your tongue,” Misty shrugs, and Cordelia’s lips curl up in a smile. 

“I suppose I prefer sunflowers to roses,” Cordelia admits as she reaches for another sprig of rosemary. “I always enjoyed them when they grew in the backyard garden in the summer. But Hank always brought me roses. It’s traditional.”

“Who’s Hank?” Misty asks casually, and Cordelia realizes that in the few weeks she’s known Misty, she hasn’t thought to mention her soon-to-be ex husband once. 

“He was my husband,” Cordelia reveals, unsure why she feels so ashamed to say those words. She doesn’t offer any additional information, and it’s quiet for a moment. 

“Was?”

Cordelia can’t read the younger girl’s tone. It’s only a word, but she somehow feels like she’s judging her. Logically, Cordelia knows it’s ridiculous to assume, but after growing up with a mother like Fiona she’s learned to assume the worst. 

“He slept with another woman,” Cordelia says shortly. She tries to hide the nagging anxiety that rises low in her stomach as the words leave her lips. A month ago, and it still feels so surreal. 

Before she knows it, a comforting hand is placed on her shoulder. She can feel a presence behind her from where she’s sitting on the stool- Misty’s behind her, the ends of her curly hair just brushing Cordelia’s shoulder. 

“I’m real sorry,” the younger girl offers, and her voice sounds sympathetic. Cordelia relaxes, but only a little. 

“I shouldn’t have asked. Not my place, but I am awful sorry, Miss Cordelia,” Misty continues, her hand rubbing comforting circles on Cordelia’s shoulder as she talks. “That ain’t no way to treat a lady. His momma didn’t raise him right.”

Suddenly- Cordelia doesn’t know where it comes from- the urge to laugh bubbles up in her chest, and she doesn’t resist. She laughs, biting her lip and lolling her head forward. Misty’s voice just sounds so innocent, so caring and so kind. It makes the whole situation seem like something to laugh over. Briefly, she wonders if she sounds crazy, but she doesn’t quite think Misty would care. 

“Misty, you can call me Cordelia. Like you said, we’re friends. It _is_ your place,” Cordelia insists, wiping the corner of her eye with her sleeve as she quiets down. She means it, too. She doesn’t want Misty to feel like she has to be so formal around her- Misty’s quickly becoming a close friend and the last thing she wants the younger girl to see her as is a strict headmistress ordering her around the greenhouse. 

Luckily enough, Misty doesn’t seem too put off by her outburst of laughter. Cordelia hears the other witch laugh as well, and the comforting hand on her shoulder squeezes. 

“Well, I’m real glad to have someone like you as a friend,” Misty admits after the laughter dies down a bit, and her voice sounds nothing but genuine. 

* * *

Doing simple tasks around the house has decidedly become much harder without her vision, Cordelia thinks, but she’s not as bitter about it as she originally was. She’s adjusting, slowly but surely. And she’s become more determined recently to try and get back to some kind of normalcy. 

Misty’s helped, she thinks to herself, as she opens the dishwasher, fumbling across the upper rack to ensure it’s been emptied. She hasn’t treated her differently at all. Mainly because she didn’t know her before she’d lost her sight. Regardless, it’s nice. 

The dish nearly slips out of Cordelia’s hand as she tries to place it in the rack, and she curses under her breath. Luck was on her side, but she doesn’t know for how long. It’s not like she has to do the dishes- they’ve got staff for that, and she tries to have the girls clean up after themselves as well, tries to raise them up right like that. But Cordelia enjoys helping out once in a while- it reminds her that she’s not her mother- and honestly, right now, she just wants to prove to herself that she can help out. 

Focused, Cordelia smoothly takes a cup from the sink and places it in the upper racking. She tries not to overthink each action. Blind or not, she closes her eyes. It helps, sometimes. It makes it feel like it’s her choice to shut them, like she’s not blinking furiously, eyes darting around the room but seeing nothing. 

It’s different in the greenhouse, with Misty. She doesn’t shut her eyes often. At times, she gets self-conscious about what her burned eyes must look like to the younger witch, but she’s learned not to let it bother her. Misty’s always very tactile, with absolutely no understanding of the term “personal space” and Cordelia doesn’t mind at all. The years in an isolated shack have made Misty crave human touch, and truth be told, Cordelia misses it as well. She’s glad they’ve managed to find it with each other. 

As Cordelia picks up another dish, carefully, she lets her mind wander through thoughts of Misty again. She’s quickly become a close friend, and she’s never even seen her before. Often, Cordelia finds herself wondering what she looks like. Not that it matters. Misty’s her friend, and that would never change based on appearance, but still, Cordelia doesn’t know why she’s so curious to know. She knows she has long, wavy hair, knows she’s strong- Cordelia can feel the muscle built up from years of hard work on the other girl’s shoulders and back- and that’s about all she knows. 

She wonders what color Misty’s eyes are. She wonders if she’s got light hair, or dark. She wonders if she’s tan from all the time spent in the sun, or fair-skinned like Cordelia herself is. She wonders-

“She’s pretty.”

Cordelia drops the plate she’s holding. 

“Damn it, Nan!” She curses, bending down to try and pick up the shards that have scattered across the floor. “You frightened me.”

The shorter witch makes her way into the kitchen, and Cordelia hears her fumbling with the broom. The headmistress leans back on her heels, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Sorry. But you were thinking too loudly. I couldn’t read my book,” Nan explains as the bristles of the broom brush over the tiled floor. “Misty’s pretty. So you can stop wondering.”

“I- I wasn’t wondering,” Cordelia insists, and she’s sure that her cheeks are flushed. _Why_? Why does she feel like a little girl caught looking at inappropriate magazines by her parents? 

“Yes you were. I could hear it. She has blonde hair and hazel eyes. She’s a few inches taller than you and she’s got strong features. She’s _really_ pretty, and I think Madison gets jealous sometimes, because she’s pretty in a different way than Madison is,” Nan explains as she dumps the contents of the dustpan into the trash bin. 

“It doesn’t- I wasn’t wondering if she’s _pretty_. I just couldn’t picture her, that’s all,” Cordelia defends herself, her mind already swimming with what Nan’s told her. What did she mean, pretty in a different way than Madison? Madison was the Hollywood model of perfection, Cordelia knew that, but her mean-spirited personality had shone through too much for Cordelia liking. Misty had a kind heart, and Cordelia suspected that already made her more beautiful than Madison ever was. 

“I can _hear_ you, Cordelia,” Nan reminds her, frustration seeping into her tone. “I just want to read. Stop thinking about her.”

And just like that, Nan is gone, and Cordelia feels the room has grown much warmer. She sits down at the table, trying to catch her breath. Why does it suddenly feel difficult? What is the lingering tightness in her chest? 

Cordelia gets up and closes the dishwasher. She doesn’t feel like doing them anymore.

* * *

“Delia! Delia, you gotta hear about this!”

Cordelia’s sitting in her office, pondering how on earth she’s going to get through all of these applications without being able to read a single one of them, when Misty comes barreling through the door. She’s not sure when Misty started calling her Delia. Maybe right around when she stopped calling her Miss Cordelia. 

“Maddi came home with this.”

An item is thrust into her hands, and suddenly she can smell that sweet, earthy scent that accompanies Misty wherever she goes. It distracts her so much that she forgets she’s holding something until she’s given an enthusiastic nudge from the younger girl. 

“Delia, come on, we ain’t got all day!”

Laughing softly, Cordelia lets her fingers roam across the item, feeling the paper-thin edges and the smooth finish. She finds an edge of the package and dips a finger inside, nodding in recognition when she feels the edge of a vinyl record inside the cover. 

“Madison went to a record store?”

“Oh, so everybody in this damn house knew and didn’t ever think to mention it to me, it bein right down in town and all?” Misty’s voice is meant to sound annoyed, but Cordelia can hear the humor behind it. She smiles in spite of herself. 

“Do you have a record player, Misty?” 

“I did when I was a kid, back at my old house. I never went back to get it though, after all that happened. Just had that CD player in the swamp,” Misty explains, and Cordelia’s sitting, but she swears she can feel Misty’s hair just brushing her shoulders, she’s so close. “I love them so much, Delia, it’s like you can feel the music scratchin’ in the air.”

“I believe I’ve got an old one here somewhere,” Cordelia offers, placing the record on the desk in front of her and standing from her chair, intent on beginning the search for her old record player. “You’re welcome to use it if you’d like.”

“Wait, really?” 

Cordelia nods, beginning to turn around, but she’s stopped by strong arms that tug her backwards and wrap around her waist firmly, pulling their bodies together. Cordelia gasps at the touch and nearly stumbles, but Misty’s chest is against her back, holding her steady, before she can say a thing.

Misty’s practically shaking with excitement and it has Cordelia smiling from ear to ear. She didn’t expect Misty to be as tall as she is. Cordelia isn’t wearing her heels right now, and the difference between them seems more pronounced. Her head falls back on Misty’s shoulder, surrounded by blonde curls. Misty’s thin, but she’s strong, her sinewy arms cradling Cordelia carefully as she sways them back and forth. 

“ _Misty_ ,” she laughs, slightly embarrassed at the playful way Misty’s holding her. It feels nice, being held like that, it’s been so long since she has been held. 

“You’re _amazing_ , Delia,” Misty’s gushing now, her arms squeezing around Cordelia’s waist, her breath hot on Cordelia’s ear. She leans back, lifts the headmistress up just an inch off the ground, laughs as she tries to spin them around. 

“Misty!” Cordelia gasps again, unable to stop herself from giggling as she clutches at the younger witch’s arms, trying to stabilize herself as she feels her feet leave the ground. The thought brushes across her mind, briefly, that she can’t see, that she should be scared. It leaves as quickly as it arrives, pushed out by the giddy feeling of the air moving around them, and Cordelia barely even gives it notice. 

“That’s _my_ record, Swampy,” Madison’s voice echoes across the office, and Cordelia feels her happiness come to a screeching halt. Misty doesn’t seem too troubled by the voice, slowing her movements and gently lowering Cordelia to the ground, her arms still lingering around the headmistress’s waist. Cordelia instantly steps away as soon as she feels the floorboards under her toes. She straightens her skirt, feeling her hands shake slightly. Fumbling with the edge of the desk to guide her, she steps around to the side of it, putting some distance between herself and the younger witch. 

“I was just showin’ Delia. No need to be rude about it,” Misty fires back, and Cordelia hears the sound of the record being snatched off the top of the desk. 

“Yeah, I can see that. I didn’t think you played favorites, _Delia_ ,” Madison shoots at Cordelia, and the way she says the nickname is dripping with sarcasm. Like she should be ashamed that Misty calls her that. It dawns on Cordelia suddenly, that Misty is the only one to call her that, save for her dearest friend Myrtle. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but the way Misty says it seems different somehow. 

“Don’t argue, girls.” Her tone is clipped, and she’s fully aware that she’s addressing both Madison and Misty like students. “Misty’s right. There’s no need to be rude.”

“Of course you agree with her. Get a room,” Madison spits, and Cordelia can hear the clicking of her heels as she exits the room, most likely holding the record in her arms. 

“She’s always got a stick up her ass,” Misty grumbles, and Cordelia swears she can feel the room get a little lighter since Madison left. 

“Don’t let her bother you. She does this to everyone,” Cordelia reminds Misty, hoping to appease her. She doesn’t like hearing the other girl’s voice take on such a sad note. 

“She’s a real bitch to everyone, but she’s plain nasty to me,” Misty complains, and Cordelia hears the sound of her office chair creaking as Misty settles into it. “Treats me like I’m trash cause of where I came from.”

“There is nothing wrong with where you came from, Misty,” Cordelia insists a little more firmly this time. 

“I know that, but it still bothers me that girls like her look down on people like me,” Misty mutters. “I just wanted to show you the damn record, I wasn’t tryin’ to take it from her. It wasn’t even Stevie. She didn’t have to treat me like that.”

Cordelia’s heart aches in her chest, and the urge to soothe Misty in whatever way she can is nearly uncontrollable. The poor girl has had enough pain in her life, she thinks. She’ll do whatever she can to prevent more from striking. 

“I think I know which record store she bought hers from,” Cordelia says suddenly, stepping away from the desk and reaching towards her chair, finding Misty’s shoulder and placing her hand there to steady herself and gain the younger girl’s attention. “Why don’t we go? I’m sure they have Stevie’s records.”

“You’d take me?” 

Her voice sounds so hopeful, so innocent, and for some reason it makes Cordelia’s heart ache a little more. She swallows hard, hoping her face doesn’t reflect that rush of emotion she’s feeling now. 

For some reason, in that moment, Cordelia knows she'll never be able to say no to Misty Day. It doesn't bother her. She's found a friend in a stranger, found purpose in a dark time of her life. She may not be able to see her, but Misty has already brightened up her world more than she'd ever imagined. She only hopes to return the favor as their time together passes. 

“Of _course_.”


	2. and i am a fool once more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and inspiration! This chapter will continue to delve into their blossoming relationship and create some groundwork before we can start getting into the REAL fluffy stuff. Stay tuned for some troubles down the road in the upcoming chapters, however....

Although Cordelia had been the one to suggest taking a day trip into town to explore the nearby record store, she’d initially been worried about heading out into the city without her sight. After all, the accident had only happened a month ago and up until now, she’d had no reason to leave the academy. 

But things change, and with Misty Day around, she had a feeling this wasn’t the only thing that would be changing. It doesn’t bother her much. The air surrounding Cordelia as she walks is so crisp, so fresh, she feels like she could get lost in it. The feeling of the sun beating down against the loose cardigan she’d thrown on makes her feel more alive in a moment than she’s felt in weeks. 

Misty’s been great company; that much doesn’t surprise Cordelia. She’d been all too happy at the suggestion that they walk the few blocks into the city, since Cordelia can’t drive and she wasn’t sure if Misty's ever been licensed. Keeping in stride with Cordelia the whole way, she’d pointed out all the scenery they were passing, the milestones and different street names as they crossed them so Cordelia could continue to direct her to the cozy record store just down the road. 

“Delia, I think I see it!”

Misty’d been in the middle of a story, describing the town she’d grown up in to Cordelia, when she’d gone silent for a moment then had eagerly grabbed for Cordelia’s hand the next. Cordelia laughed, squeezing Misty’s palm reassuringly. 

“I told you we were close, didn’t I?” 

“Oh, it looks beautiful in there,” Misty purred, her pace picking up, her hand still tightly closed around Cordelia’s as she gently tugged her closer towards the entrance. “Don’t think I’ve been in a store like this in a couple of years. Been hidin’ out too much for that, couldn’t go back to my old town.”

Cordelia makes note of that. She wonders where exactly Misty’s old town was, where her house was. If her parents, who left her to burn, still lived there comfortably. The bitterness in her hoped they’d burned, too. 

The door chimes as the two girls enter the store, floorboards creaking under Cordelia’s step. She’s become much too aware of all the sounds around her now that she’s lost her sight. The noises of an old building doesn’t quite escape her even now, with the faint music playing overhead and the chatter of other customers around the store. 

There isn’t much for Cordelia to do other than follow Misty around the store, enjoying the commentary from the younger witch as she moves from aisle to aisle, sorting through the different records. Misty lets out an excited squeal as they move to a new section, and Cordelia finds herself wishing she could see now more than ever. She wants to see what made Misty happy like that, all of the sudden. She wishes she could see Misty’s face. 

“I found Stevie!” Misty says excitedly, and a record is placed in Cordelia’s hands, not that it does much to differentiate them to Cordelia. “It’s _Rumors._ One of their older albums, but it don’t matter, I like the old stuff better anyways.”

“Any songs I might know?” Cordelia offers, her fingertips tracing the edge of the vinyl. 

“I don’t sing much of these in the greenhouse,” Misty admits. “But I can start singin’ em to you, if you want.”

It’s so sweet, such an innocent and selfless offer that Cordelia feels overrun with emotion like she did earlier in her office, after Misty had spun her around like a teenager again. Misty has that effect on her, she realizes, and wonders briefly if she’s ever had a friend quite like Misty Day before. 

“That would be nice,” she says softly, instead, and hands the record back into Misty’s awaiting arms. 

Misty continues to browse, taking her sweet time, not that Cordelia minds. She ends up picking out two other albums, both Fleetwood Mac, and reading the songs off the back to Cordelia as they stand in line before the register. Cordelia doesn’t think she’s ever heard Misty talk so long without taking a breath as she rambles on about her latest choice, and it fills her chest with warmth to hear her so happy. 

It’s a little scary, being out in public like this, so vulnerable and oblivious to any danger lurking in the corners around them. But Cordelia finds it a little less nerve-wracking being here with Misty to take her mind off of it. 

Misty takes her bag and guides Cordelia towards the door by the small of her back, hand firmly holding her steady as they navigate through the small aisles. The door opens, the fresh air floods Cordelia again, and she feels Misty step alongside her again, hand still gently supporting her as they step onto the crosswalk. 

Cordelia allows herself to take in the warmth of the sun, the smell of spring in the air around them, the grounding weight of Misty’s palm on her lower back.

She’s glad she made the trip. 

* * *

  
  


Cordelia has always considered herself a giver. Growing up with a mother like Fiona, she got used to not receiving much care or affection from those around her, and instead learned to please by offering others what she could. Her own lack of protection as a child gave her an extremely protective nature when it came to her students in the coven. And during her marriage with Hank, well, she’d _definitely_ given more than she’d received. He’d never gone out of his way too often to make her feel special or surprise her with things. But Cordelia had never really known any other type of _love_ , so she’d grown content with the boring cycle they’d fallen into during their marriage. 

She’s always been a giver, so much that it makes it hard for her to receive _anything,_ from a compliment to a gift. So when Misty knocks on her bedroom door late one night as she’s just settling into bed, claiming she has her own surprise for her, Cordelia’s not quite sure how to take it. 

Nevertheless, she makes her way out of bed, pulling her silk robe over her nightgown to keep herself modest, and opens the door. 

“Oh, Delia, I didn’t know you were goin’ to bed yet,” Misty apologizes, but Cordelia shakes her head adamantly. 

“I’m not. I’m still used to winding down to read before bed, and I suppose that even without my sight, that routine of settling in early is difficult to break,” Cordelia laughs. It’s true- she’s used to heading up to her room an hour early to enjoy the peace and quiet away from the drama of the academy. Before, she used to fill that time with books and all kinds of literature- spells, poetry, fantasy, fiction. Now, it’s not the same, but she enjoys the time to herself regardless to gather her thoughts and reflect on the day. 

“Well, perfect timin’ then,'' Misty chuckles. “Okay if I come in?”

Stepping aside to allow the younger girl entry, Cordelia smiles to herself. Misty may just be the most blunt person she knows, yet she’s always polite as could be. The other girls would have barged right in. She enjoys how considerate Misty is of others. _She would make a great Supreme,_ Cordelia thinks as she shuts the door behind them, following Misty over to her bed. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” she insists, settling on the mattress with one leg crossed over the other. “What did you want to show me?”

“Okay, well, it was just an idea I had,” Misty begins, and Cordelia feels the mattress dip under the weight of another person settling on it. “I know you were talkin’ about how much you miss your books, and all that stuff you’re missin’’ out on now. And I was with Zoe today lookin’ around the basement, and found a bunch of books down in that dusty little room y'all call a library. Thought maybe we could read ‘em together. I found Pride & Prejudice. I know ya said it was one of your favorites.”

The offer takes Cordelia by surprise- she doesn’t know what she was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. It was an offhand conversation they’d had last week, and Misty had _remembered_ it, remembered her love for books, remembered what she’d mentioned as her favorite. 

It makes her heart swell with affection for the girl sitting beside her. Cordelia decides, then, that she _definitely_ hasn’t had a friend like Misty Day before. 

“I would love that, Misty,” she murmurs softly, her smile inevitable. She can practically feel the nerves radiating off the other witch- _why_ is she so nervous? 

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Misty chuckles out nervously, her hand coming to find Cordelia’s arm and stroking the skin in the way she’s grown to do when she wants Cordelia to know she’s _here,_ to stabilize them both. “I didn’t know if you’d think it was weird, readin’ to you like that or somethin’. Maddi had a lot to say about it.”

Cordelia tenses a little at the mention. She’s not sure why she doesn’t like the idea of Madison knowing that Misty’s up here, in her room, reading to her alone. Weeks ago, the anxious feeling would have stemmed from the fact that she was unable to read it herself. Now, she’s not quite sure what’s causing her to worry. 

“What did she say?” 

“You know how that girl is,” Misty scoffs, and Cordelia feels the bed bounce as Misty crawls up to the headboard, resting against it and crossing her legs. “Don’t know why she’s always got a bone to pick with me.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but Cordelia still finds herself curious. Maybe this _is_ strange, maybe whatever Madison had said was right. Misty’s her friend, she knows that, but she can’t shake the feeling that this could be inappropriate, the two of them in bed like this, late at night. Cordelia struggles to understand the logic behind it- Misty isn’t her student, after all, she’s taught herself and she’s much older than the other girls at the academy. She’s her _friend_. It’s perfectly normal for friends to spend time together like this, but she still feels like she’s breaking some sort of rule and she doesn’t know why. 

Misty’s hand finds her shoulder, tugging on it gently, coaxing her to lie back and relax into the pillows, and Cordelia decides to try and forget about it for the time being. The pillows are soft against her shoulders, her hair splaying across the white fabric and mixing with the ends of Misty’s own curls. She breathes in the earthy tone that accompanies Misty wherever she goes, and lets herself relax. 

“Alright, Delia, listen in now, and you might have to help me pronounce some of these words,” Misty warns her, and Cordelia giggles. “Chapter One. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’”

The southern twang that Misty’s voice adds to each sentence just serves to give the story more character, Cordelia thinks to herself. She’s been missing the ability to read her books ever since she lost her sight, been dreaming about the day she might be able to again, but now as she lies next to Misty, she thinks she just might prefer hearing Misty read through them. 

* * *

  
  


“I don’t think it’s working,” Zoe sighs, exasperated at her inability to perform the incantation she’s been practicing for the last thirty minutes. 

“Hmm, nah. You’re gettin’ it,” Misty encourages her, leaning over Zoe’s shoulder and peeking down at the dried out plant she’s focused on. “It’s not as dead as it was this mornin’, that’s for sure. See those little streaks of green down in the roots?”

“Where’d you learn all this?” Zoe asks curiously as she reaches for the spoon, carefully applying more paste around the base of the plant. 

They’re sitting in the kitchen of the academy- Misty insisted that they bring the plants inside to practice the incantations so they wouldn’t bother Cordelia in the greenhouse. Zoe had been all too happy to agree initially, but it became clear that their magical gifts and abilities differed greatly. While Misty had mastered the power of resurgence, Zoe was still struggling to resurrect a small herb.

“Delia taught me. Well, she taught me this one,” Misty explains as she reaches for her spoon, beginning to spread the paste around the roots of an already- healthy rosemary plant she’d swiped from the greenhouse. “I used to use similar stuff on the plants in my garden back home. Just never nothin’ this powerful. She’s real smart, you know.”

“She is,” Zoe agrees, noticing the smile that spreads across Misty’s face at the mention of the headmistress. “She taught you this spell?”

“Yeah. All about your intention,” Misty instructs, watching as Zoe grabs the spell book one more time. “Focus on it. Really try and feel your words, don’t just say ‘em, you gotta mean ‘em.”

Zoe repeats the spell, eyes shut, voice firm, and Misty claps when the plant’s wilted leaves become just a _tad_ healthier once again. 

“You’re really gettin’ it!” She laughs, settling back in her chair as they peer at the plant Zoe has managed to halfway resurrect. “I should go get Delia, she’s gotta see this.”

“She’s with Madison trying to teach her the same thing,” Zoe warns. “We might want to let those two be.”

Misty’s nose wrinkles up at the mention of the movie star. “That girl’s got a long way to go. Settin’ things on fire ain’t no way to prove you’re a witch.”

The meaning behind her words is deeper and Zoe knows it. 

“So, you and Cordelia,” Zoe starts, trying to change the subject from the uncomfortable topic of Misty’s death. “She seems to be teaching you a lot.”

Misty’s whole face brightens, at that, and she sets down the spoon she’d been using to apply the paste. “Oh, Delia’s just _amazin’,_ ” she gushes. “She’s been teachin’ me all kinds of things, you know. I think she’s the nicest girl I ever met. She’s a real good Supreme.”

“Cordelia… Cordelia’s not the Supreme,” Zoe frowns, tilting her head to look over at Misty. “Who told you that?”

“Well, Queenie said the Supreme is the leader of the coven.” Misty seems confused, like she’d been so _sure_ of the older witch. Zoe can see where she’s coming from. 

“Fiona Goode is the Supreme. You’re just one of the lucky ones, who haven’t met her yet,” Zoe mutters. “Cordelia’s the headmistress. But she does more to teach us than her own mother does.”

“Cordelia’s mom is the Supreme?”

“Yeah. She isn’t a very good one, though,” Zoe warns her. “Don’t look _too_ forward to meeting her.”

* * *

“You never told me that your momma was the Supreme,” Misty mentions later that night when she’s in the sitting room with Cordelia, bringing the older girl a glass of wine and taking a seat next to her on the plush sofa. 

Cordelia sips the wine before she answers. She figures she might need the liquid courage to get through this conversation. 

“She is. I don’t talk about her much,” Cordelia finally admits. 

“I thought you were the Supreme, Miss Cordelia,” Misty chuckles as she pours her own glass, much smaller than Cordelia’s but just as enjoyable. “You seem like ya are.”

“I’m no Supreme,” Cordelia scoffs, trying to play her tone off as sarcastic although she’s sure the swamp witch can sense the self-loathing in her words. “And Fiona, well, she’s hardly my mother. Blood, yes. But Aunt Myrtle did a much better job of raising me than Fiona ever could have.”

“Myrtle’s a real nice lady,” Misty drawls as she leans back, fully settling in to the couch. “Never met Fiona, though.”

“Consider yourself one of the lucky ones.”

“What was she like, growin’ up?” 

Cordelia considers the question briefly before replying. She doesn’t like talking about Fiona much, if ever, but Misty’s been so kind this far and after all, she’d told Cordelia about her own family struggles. 

“She wasn’t around much. She dropped me off at the Academy when I was thirteen, just old enough to be accepted at that time. It felt a little like she’d been counting down the days.” 

“You ever knew your father?”

Cordelia shook her head. “No. I’m not sure if she even knew, to be quite honest. It doesn’t bother me too much. If he’s anything like her, I’m sure I’d be better off without him.”

“You talk like somethin real bad happened, Delia,” Misty pointed out, pulling her feet up on the cushions to cross her legs. Cordelia finds herself smiling slightly at the feeling of the blonde’s knee resting against her own, like it always does whenever Misty gives up sitting properly and instead sprawls herself out. 

“Nothing in particular, just a whole lifetime growing up feeling like I couldn’t do anything right,” Cordelia admitted. “Fiona Goode walks into a room, and no matter what room it is, she’s always the smartest one in it. Motherhood didn’t make her more compassionate, it just gave her someone new to exert her power over.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good mother,” Misty mutters. “‘M sorry you didn’t have a better time growin’ up.”

The soft, remorseful way Misty says it makes Cordelia truly believe her words. And when Misty leans closer to her, leaning her head on Cordelia’s shoulder and swirling the wine glass between her fingers, Cordelia feels that same warm rush of emotion she so often associates with Misty rushing in. 

Letting her head fall back and rest against the sofa cushions, Cordelia closes her eyes lazily, not that it would matter if they were open. She’s comfortable now, used to Misty’s kind, gentle touches. Misty’s one of the only people who will touch her now, these days, since she was given the Gift of Sight. Right now, when she shuts her eyes, she can see a young girl in a tattered dress, laughing and running around a woodsy backyard. She knows Misty’s probably reminiscing about her own childhood after the conversation had just a few minutes ago. 

That’s one of the beautiful things about Misty, she thinks. She never really has anything to hide. 

“Thank you,” she decides to murmur quietly, her words muffled slightly by Misty’s hair pressing against her jaw. 

“For what, Delia?” 

Ignorance is bliss, and Misty’s voice portrays no judgement. It’s clear to Cordelia that Misty doesn’t make an effort to try to be someone she’s not, to try and be a light in someone’s life. She just _is._

“For everything,” she decides to say, unable to find words to quite describe what she’s feeling. 

“Nah, thank you,” Misty murmurs, pressing harder into Cordelia’s side playfully and letting her head settle more fully on her shoulder. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya, know that?”

Cordelia’s not really sure what _she’s_ done for Misty, to warrant her saying that. But it brightens her mood, slightly, to know she’s had an impact on Misty’s life too, the same way Misty’s changed hers. 

“You won’t ever have to find out,” she promises, and before she knows what she’s doing, the arm Misty’s settled against has wiggled it’s way out from underneath her grounding weight and is instead settling around her shoulders, encouraging Misty closer. It’s like the push Misty was waiting for, because the action causes Misty to melt softly into the headmistress’s embrace, and nothing has ever felt more _natural_ in Cordelia’s life. 

They relax there, quietly, and Misty’s hot breath on Cordelia’s collarbone creates goosebumps that spread across Cordelia's entire body. She fights back a shiver, and now Cordelia’s not sure when the warm, content feeling of a friendly embrace turned into an unsettled ball of anxiety, resting low in her stomach. 

* * *

It’s been a long week, and although Friday night is the girls’ favorite night to go out, Cordelia just feels like winding down. Madison’s resurrection may have been at the hands of Misty Day, but her death had been at the hands of Fiona, and when that was revealed to the rest of the coven this week, all hell had broken loose. Of course, Cordelia herself wasn’t innocent- it had been her idea, after all, to suggest killing her mother. 

She takes another sip of her wine as she rocks back and forth on the porch swing, her own foot gently pushing off the ground to maintain a steady rhythm. She can’t quite see if it’s dark out yet, but the humid air has become cooler so she assumes the sun must have already set. 

It’s a good thing Fiona hasn’t been by the academy all week. After all, there’s still so much planning to be done. How they’ll kill her, how they’ll hide the body. There’s so much death around them already that Cordelia wonders if anyone will even notice. Fiona has countless connections, but Cordelia’s not sure if she has any true friends. She wonders if anyone will notice, outside of the academy, when Fiona’s gone. The council will, of course, but Myrtle will take care of that. 

She’s not worried about the legal repercussions at _all_ . She just truly hopes the duty won’t fall on her to kill her own mother. Cordelia’s always been more compassionate than she’d cared to be, even for a mother who wasn’t around her entire childhood. The thought of losing Fiona makes Cordelia feel nauseous, but the thought of her sticking around and harming the coven makes her downright _sick._

Well. The better of two evils, Cordelia supposes. 

“Cordelia, dear, you’ll catch a cold out there alone,” Myrtle calls from behind her, and Cordelia turns her head. Useless, really- she can’t see anything anyways, but it’s a force of habit. 

“I’m just fine, thank you.”

“You look troubled, my sweet girl.” A hand reaches out to touch Cordelia’s shoulder. “Is it Fiona?”

Cordelia nods quietly. She doesn’t feel the need to explain herself further. Myrtle knows her better than anyone else. She knows what’s running through her mind. 

“She’s not a fit leader for this coven. This is long overdue.”

“I agree,” Cordelia murmurs, bringing the glass to her lips and taking another small sip. “This coven needs a real leader.”

“I doubt it will find it in Madison Montgomery, regardless of what your mother thought.”

“Madison won’t be the next Supreme.” Cordelia says it firmly, more sure of that than she was of anything else in her life at the moment. Madison would rule the same way Fiona had- selfish and hungry for power. The coven needed someone kind, with a gentle heart and a strong will. 

“I believe you’re right, Myrtle,” Cordelia continues, remembering what Myrtle had told her in the greenhouse, the first day she’d been back, the first day Misty had arrived at the coven. With a quiet creak, the swing strains a little as Myrtle sits down beside her. “Misty would make a wonderful Supreme.”

“The girl has powers I’ve never seen in any other witch,” Myrtle agrees as she settles back against the wicker. “However, I fear the unknown more than anything else, dear. Misty Day resurrected every witch in this academy that your mother destroyed, but she comes without understanding how to harness her power. She has no _idea_ what we’re up against.”

Cordelia can practically hear Misty’s cries for help as Myrtle finishes her sentence. She can see the flickering of the match being held up to her face as she hangs limply from the old crane, logs drenched in gasoline at her feet. 

_  
_ _It’s you that will end in flames. I swear it!_

She shivers. 

“Misty knows what we’re fighting,” she says evenly, trying to shake the memory from her mind. “She knows it better than any one of us.”

“You have faith in her.”

“Of course I do,” Cordelia laughs. She’d be foolish not to. It’s been a little over a month, now, and Misty’s one of the most faithful souls she’s ever known. Cordelia isn’t quite sure how someone _wouldn’t_ have faith in Misty, after getting to know her. 

Myrtle’s quiet for a moment, and it feels like forever to Cordelia. She wonders if her dearest friend doesn’t share the same ideas about Misty Day. It doesn’t make sense how that thought turns her mood sour. 

“You care about her.”

Cordelia does care about her. Only, it doesn’t quite seem like that’s what Myrtle’s asking. 

“Hey, Delia!” 

Misty’s voice cuts into the peaceful silence of the evening, and Cordelia hears her less-than-graceful footsteps approaching from the house to the porch. “You out here?”

“We’re out here, dear,” Myrtle calls back before Cordelia can respond. 

“Oh, _hi_.” 

Cordelia can tell Misty’s smiling. Of course she is- Misty loves people, loves being around them, loves being _outside_ like this, even at night. Misty’s a sweet girl, easy to please, and sometimes Cordelia wonders how she can stay so positively optimistic when Misty spends so much time by Cordelia’s side. 

“Ain’t trying to intrude,” Misty apologizes, and Myrtle shushes her, waving her off. “Just wanted to see if ya felt like readin’ a little earlier than usual, Delia. Zoe and the other girls invited me out with ‘em tonight.”

Cordelia smiles, first because she’s glad Misty’s warming up to the other girls of the house, too, and secondly, because Misty still seems to care more about reading a silly _book_ to her than she does about going out on a Friday night. 

“You don’t have to, Misty,” she offers. “I’m sure Zoe would like to leave sooner rather than later.”

“Nah, they can wait.” A calloused hand finds Cordelia’s shoulder, thumb stroking the bone softly. “We were gettin’ into the good part last night, I wanna see what happens. Can’t just leave a girl hangin’ like that.”

Cordelia giggles- something that she only realizes is so _unlike_ her when she can practically feel Myrtle’s eyes burning into hers- as she nods her head quickly. “Well, I’ll meet you upstairs and we’ll see what happens, won’t we?”

Misty’s hand rubs her shoulder affectionately before disappearing altogether. “Alright, don’t you try and race me upstairs, now, I still gotta find my good shawl for tonight,” the younger girl warns as her footsteps retreat back to where they came from.

“You better get going, dear,” Myrtle says as Misty’s footsteps slowly fade away inside the house. “She sounds more impatient than you were at that age.”

Cordelia’s brow wrinkles a bit, at that. She’d never really _considered_ it before- Misty’s age as compared to hers. She knew Misty was older than her students, never really thought of her as a student- but was she still young? Was it strange, spending so much time with someone who could be one of her students?

“How old is she?” She asks softly, feeling more self-conscious than ever. 

“Oh, maybe 7,8 years younger,” Myrtle comments, and it does nothing to soothe Cordelia’s nerves. 

“Do you find that strange? You’d be honest with me, Myrtle,” Cordelia reasoned, shifting closer to the other witch. 

“Not strange at all, my last lover was thirty years younger,” Myrtle scoffs, and Cordelia hears the familiar sound of a cigarette being lit. “Don’t let it bother you, dear. You’ve got a beautiful youthful face, I always told your mother that if there was one good thing she’s given you it’s that gorgeous bone structure. I-”

“Myrtle, she’s not my _lover_ , _”_ Cordelia interrupts with an astonished laugh. She can smell the cigarette smoke now, ashy in the crisp evening air. The urge to take a drag hits her harder now more than ever. Sweat on her palms becomes uncomfortably sticky, forcing her to wipe shaky hands on her skirt. 

“I didn’t say she was, Delia.”

Myrtle offers up no further explanation and Cordelia doesn’t know how to continue approaching the subject. She’s not sure why she made the rapid connection from Myrtle’s story to Misty, instantly latching on at the word _lover_ . Misty isn’t her _lover_. Cordelia’s never been religious, never been homophobic either. Many of the friends she’d had growing up were gay. She’d never been one to judge, but she hates the defensive way she feels right now. 

* * *

  
  
  


“Misty, you’re _drunk_ ,” Cordelia grunts as a toppling mess is launched into her arms, nearly throwing her off balance if it wasn’t for Zoe’s steady hand supporting her. 

The door to her bedroom is open, now, and she’s still trying to wipe sleep from her eyes. She’d dozed off in her room, still wearing her work clothing, waiting up to make sure Misty- and the other girls, of course- all made it home safely. But, without caffeine or company to keep her up, she found it harder and harder to stay upright. 

No matter now. Misty was home in one piece, even if she _was_ a little past tipsy. 

“Miss Cordelia,” Misty slurs, sinewy arms wrapped around Cordelia’s neck as she hangs off of the headmistress. “Next time, I’m bringin’ you with me, alright?”

“She doesn’t have much of a tolerance,” Zoe apologizes in a low voice. She’s standing behind Cordelia, keeping her steady, ready to catch Misty if her intention sets upon something else. So far, it only seems focused on Cordelia. 

“Well, that I believe,” Cordelia laughs dryly. Zoe sounds sober- she’s not quite sure where Madison and Queenie are, but she guesses Misty’s probably the only one nearly toppling over. Makes sense, the girl lived most of her life in isolation. She probably hadn’t been much of a drinker. 

“Don’t talk about me like I ain’t here.” Misty’s words, though mumbled, are clear and directed right at Cordelia. She feels the younger girl pull back slightly, and a finger is suddenly placed under her chin, tilting her head up. If she could see, she knows she’d be staring right into Misty’s eyes, can feel the intensity of the drunk girl’s gaze on her own skin.

“I don’t know if we should leave her alone tonight,” Zoe continues, her voice lower and still worried. It seems she’s also privy to the fact that Misty wasn’t used to feeling like this. 

“We shouldn’t. I can take her.”

It seems such an obvious solution- Cordelia’s had to take care of many friends on nights out back in her youth. Misty would be no different. Yes, she couldn’t _see_ , but she was adjusting. She wouldn’t let that stop her now. 

“Are you sure?” Zoe pauses, her hand still gently resting on Cordelia’s arm. Cordelia can practically feel the words she’s left unsaid- _You can’t see her. What if something happens to her?_

Cordelia feels Misty’s thumb stroke the bottom of her chin. She’d do anything to make sure Misty was okay, tonight, and always. 

“I’m sure. Thank you for waking me up, Zoe.”

With that, the youngest of her students has disappeared, the door shutting softly behind her, and the room seems all too quiet. 

“You should lay down,” Cordelia finally says, her hands still firmly placed on Misty’s sides, stabilizing the younger girl as she swayed slightly. She could feel Misty’s nod of agreement by the way her whole body seemed to shake.

“You should’a come out,” Misty drawls, fumbling hands finding the older girl’s shoulders as she flops down on the bed, pulling Cordelia down with her. Cordelia gasps, landing half on the bed and half on Misty, her arms struggling to find purchase on the mattress and support herself. Before she can get herself situated, two hands grip her hips firmly, lifting her up just enough to steady her. 

“‘M sorry. Gotta remember to be more careful with ya,” Misty murmurs, and her voice sounds sorrowful, almost. Cordelia’s so confused by the tone that she forgets she’s still laying partially on the blonde. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Misty’s always been so wonderful, never paying much attention to the fact that Cordelia is blind, never treating her any differently. At least, that’s what Cordelia had _assumed_. She knows Misty’s probably just looking out for her, but her mood still bitters a little at the realization that Misty might pity her just like the others.

When Misty doesn’t immediately reply, thumbs stroking the silk of Cordelia’s nightgown, Cordelia starts to move, suddenly wanting a little distance between them.

“You don’t have to be careful with me just because I can’t see,” she snaps, her tone more aggressive than she wants it to be. She can’t help it. Right now, Misty’s loose embrace feels more like a slap across the face. 

Misty’s grip tightens on her hips, drawing Cordelia back in, closer. Cordelia can smell the alcohol on her, but her hands are surprisingly steady. Cordelia’s own hand shakes from supporting her own weight as she hovers above her friend.

“Nah, Delia,” Misty says softly, her tone still slurred, and Cordelia knows she’s still drunk. _Knows_ she shouldn’t be getting upset with her right now. 

“Not cause you’re blind, you know I don’t care about any of that. ‘S not why I worry ‘bout you.”

“Then why do you?”

Cordelia’s own voice has dropped to a whisper. The reverence of Misty’s tone rattled her- the older witch hadn’t been expecting that much emotion to show through especially in the current situation. She’s almost entirely forgot how upset she’d been, even just momentarily, deciding that Misty must pity her. Now, after hearing how Misty spoke, she doubted it was an emotion driven by pity. 

Misty’s quiet a little longer, and Cordelia is reminded all too well that they’re close, maybe _too_ close. She’s still propped up on one arm, resting on her side, half her body weight settled on Misty’s midsection. She can’t quite move yet, Misty’s arms are still firmly looped around her waist, keeping their bodies together. 

Whenever they’ve hugged before, it’s been fleeting and warm. This feels more intimate, like a lover’s embrace. It’s burning hot.

“Maybe I’ll tell ya when the room ain’t spinnin,” Misty offers weakly, breaking the comfortable silence. 

Cordelia chuckles, feeling Misty’s blunt fingernails lightly scratch over her back. She’d hold her to it. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” the headmistress demands gently, peeling herself off of the younger girl despite resistance. She moves to the end of the bed, fumbling to wrap a hand around Misty’s ankle, intent on removing her shoes. She should have known better, she thinks as she’s met with bare feet- Misty would have thrown them off the second she got through the front door. 

“Would you like me to find pajamas from your room?” 

“‘M fine,” Misty mutters, her drowsiness starting to overtake her. Cordelia nods, standing at the end of the bed, unsure of what to do with herself. She’s got to stay with Misty, has to make sure she’s okay during the night- but what does that entail? Shall she sleep on the floor? The loveseat in the corner? 

“You comin’ to bed, Delia?”

It slips out so naturally that Cordelia thinks she might have heard wrong, but Misty repeats herself, a little louder this time, and Cordelia doesn’t hesitate before moving over to her side of the bed, carefully settling on the mattress. 

This shouldn’t feel so exciting. It should be an inconvenience, really- having to share her bed with a drunk friend. Cordelia isn’t sure why her heart is racing. 

Gingerly, she slips beneath the covers. The headmistress is careful to give Misty all the room she needs, laying flat on her back towards the edge of the bed. But Misty’s never been one for personal space, and alcohol only seems to reveal that nature further. 

As Cordelia breathes, relaxing back into the mattress, a wandering arm drapes across her stomach, and a mess of curls presses against her neck. Misty’s head rests comfortably on Cordelia’s shoulder; she can feel her breath hot against her neck. 

“Thanks for takin’ care of me,” a half-asleep Misty murmurs against her neck, making no effort to move away now that she’s gotten herself comfortable. 

Cordelia swallows, shutting her eyes as if it’ll do anything to repress what she’s now _seeing._ Misty’s hand clasps her side, stroking softly, and the touch is triggering visions Cordelia’s _never_ seen before. 

She sees herself for the first time since she’s lost her sight, burn marks around her eyes and all. She sees herself carefully grinding herbs in the greenhouse, fingers hard at work but her eyes baring straight ahead into nothingness. She watches herself through Misty’s memories as she rocks back and forth on the porch swing, wide smile due to a joke the younger girl had made. She can see herself at the dinner table, talking to Zoe quietly about something as they eat. 

Misty’s _thinking_ about her, dreaming about her, maybe. It’s been so long since she’s gotten to see herself, even if it’s through someone else’s eyes. 

There’s no fear or anxiety that comes with the vision, no disgust. She can feel the lingering emotions of the person in the moment, and Misty’s thoughts display nothing but warmth and admiration. 

“Always,” she says softly, and she brings her hand out from under the blanket to grasp Misty’s free one, still draped over her side. 

The last thing she sees through Misty’s eyes, before the younger girl falls asleep, is the image of her hand gripping Misty’s in the dim moonlight, entangled under the soft white sheets of Cordelia’s bed. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. you know i'm falling at your feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments & kudos! They definitely work wonders on writer's block :)
> 
> This chapter, we'll start to dive a liiiiiitle more into some plot & some big realizations for Cordelia. Stay tuned for the next update where we get to see a bit more tension rising between our favorite couple!

Things go surprisingly well for some time after that. 

Misty awakens the next morning with a hangover like she’s never had before, and Cordelia comes prepared to tend to her every need. A miracle concoction she’d whipped up in the greenhouse works wonders on the younger witch, and within the hour she’s back to her normal, energetic self; floating around the greenhouse with Cordelia and laughing as they work side by side on perfecting yet another potion. 

She doesn’t speak a word of what she’d said the night she’d spent in Cordelia’s bed, and Cordelia doesn’t dare to bring it up herself. It probably wasn’t anything important- Misty worrying about her could have been for any number of reasons, but the way she’d said it, so softly, so reverently, had made Cordelia feel like she was the only girl in the world that night, like she _was_ the world that night. 

Regardless, they don’t talk about it.

So they pass the time in other ways. Cordelia still has her faith rooted in Misty’s abilities, is convinced that when Fiona dies, Misty will rise as this coven’s next Supreme. Naturally, she hones in on Misty, focuses on teaching her all she can to perfect her skills. 

If it seems like special treatment - or favoritism - Cordelia could care less. Misty’s not really her student; more so just her _friend._ She deserves the attention, Cordelia decides. 

_And she’ll make a fantastic leader._

However, being naturally gifted as Misty is will create enemies, and Cordelia begins to see that firsthand.

It’s late afternoon, just a few hours before dinner, and Misty’s in one of the classrooms with Cordelia working fervently on a new spell. Rather, she’s working with Misty, trying to convince her to _perform_ it. 

“Delia…” Misty’s protesting softly, and even the slight sound of Misty’s resistance makes Cordelia want to stop in her tracks, let Misty stay in her comfort zone. 

But a Supreme needs to have every ability, needs to be able to perfom every wonder, and this is one of them. 

Pyrokinesis. 

“I don’t think I’d be much good at that one,” Misty’s saying, now, and Cordelia knows she’s scared. She can see it- _literally, see it-_ through Misty’s eyes; the horror she went through at the hands of enemies, choked up in her very own lake of fire. 

“Misty,” Cordelia begins, gently. She’s hovering over Misty’s side, the taller girl seated on the bench of the academy’s long classroom table. Cautiously- though she’s growing more confident with touching Misty, now that she knows the other girl won’t scare away - she lets her hands find Misty’s shoulders, squeezing them lightly. “You’ve received abilities stronger than half these girls put together. It’s time to harness them.”

Misty leans into her touch, just like Cordelia knew she would- like she always did. One of Misty’s calloused hands comes up to wrap over Cordelia’s, resting intertwined on her shoulder. The cool metal of Misty's rings presses against Cordelia’s knuckles, and she smiles.

“I don’t think I can do it, Delia.”

“You don’t think you can, or you don’t want to try?”

Misty’s silent again, her thumb still gently stroking Cordelia’s knuckles, and Cordelia takes the hint. 

“I would _never_ ask you to do something that would hurt you. I hope you know that,” Cordelia says softly. It’s true, too- she cares about Misty a tremendous amount even if she’s not quite outspoken with her emotions. But she’d never do anything to cause her harm. That, she knows, and she wants Misty to know it too.

“Yeah, I ain’t worried about that, I know you,” Misty responds and her voice is so steady that Cordelia knows there isn’t a hint of doubt in that statement. “It’s just…. you know what happened to me, before.”

“I know.”

The visions flash before Cordelia’s eyes again as Misty herself begins to relive them and Cordelia flinches. She hates hearing Misty scream like that, hates seeing those flames pierce the night sky. Biting down on her lip to repress her own thoughts, she almost draws her hand away to rid herself of the memories. But she knows Misty can’t escape them, knows that she may be able to stop seeing it if she doesn’t touch her but Misty won’t _ever_ stop seeing them. 

Being there for Misty is more important, Cordelia decides, and squeezes Misty’s hand a little tighter. 

“We can wait.”

“You won’t be upset?”

Misty’s voice is so innocent and Cordelia feels that all-too-familiar clench in her chest. 

“Of course not.”

A sigh of relief is breathed into the warm afternoon air, and Misty spins around, her knees knocking against Cordelia’s legs. Misty continues to hold onto the older witch’s hand, letting it fall in her lap, playing with the one ring Cordelia continued to wear after all this time. 

“Your weddin’ ring, right?”

Cordelia can’t see it anymore, but she knows exactly what Misty’s looking at. She hasn’t been able to quite get rid of it. 

“Yes,” she replies, not knowing how much more information she should offer up. 

“You still wearin’ it even if you ain’t with him?”

“We haven’t officially been divorced yet,” Cordelia shrugs, and the loose material of her skirt brushes against Misty’s knees. “Paperwork takes a while to get sorted through.”

“But you still wear his ring.”

Misty’s voice sounds… different. Normally when she peppers Cordelia with questions like this it’s out of curiosity, and she sounds eager and bright like always. Now, her voice is a little sullen, hesitant even. 

“I forget I even do,” Cordelia chuckles, letting Misty continue to twist the ring around her finger. “I suppose old habits die hard. We were married for years.”

“I can’t picture that, ya know? Someone like you, and some guy like that…” Misty trails off. Her meaning stays unclear, yet this time Cordelia has her own questions, her own curiosity.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know, Delia, I hear the way the other girls talk about him. I don’t think anyone liked him but you,” Misty confesses. “And then hearin’ from you what he did, huntin’ witches and cheatin’ on you like that?”

“You sound like my mother.” Cordelia forces out a dry chuckle. It’s hard to pretend like Misty’s words don’t sting. She knows the younger witch means well, but this has been a particularly difficult wound to heal.

“No, no,” Misty protests, and now there’s firm hands on her waist, pulling her closer to the younger girl. Cordelia lets herself be entranced into a warm embrace, and shivers at the contact when she feels Misty’s knees on either side of her hips. The youngest witch is sitting on the edge of the table, holding Cordelia tight, and for some reason the way she’s holding her has Cordelia on _edge._

“‘M sorry. Your momma’s an awful lady and I don’t want you to think I’m judgin’ you or anything,” Misty murmurs in her ear. “I just think you’re real special, and I don’t like hearin’ some man wasted that.”

The words whispered against Cordelia’s ear make her shiver again, feeling goosebumps rise across her skin. Misty’s holding her tight, stroking her back comfortably, and Cordelia lets herself relax into the embrace as much as possible. 

Her heart is pounding against Misty’s chest and that _clench_ is back. God, she feels like a ball of unleashed emotion right now, nervous and giddy with excitement that seems not to have a source. The rush of serotonin she gets when she’s in Misty’s arms like this is uncontrollable and addicting and Cordelia’s not sure when it started, but she’s tired of trying to figure it _out._

“You’re my best friend, you know that?” Misty whispers again, breaking the comfortable silence, and Cordelia’s eyes flutter shut. She begins to say something, but Misty’s drawl cuts her off. 

“I ain’t just sayin’ that cause you taught me so much. Ever since I came here you been nothin’ but nice and welcomin’ to me, and you make me real happy, Delia. Feels like I’m finally home, like I’m where I should be,” Misty murmurs. “So I don’t mean to speak out of place, especially about your marriage, but I care about ya, a lot, and I get real protective sometimes. ‘M sorry for that.”

Cordelia’s mind is racing, stuck between _best friend_ and _I care about you_ , unable to pinpoint a fluent response to Misty’s heartfelt revelation. The urge to bury her face further in Misty’s neck, move her hair to the side and just _breathe_ in, skin on skin, ebbs strong and Cordelia’s terrified at the feeling itself. 

“I care about you,” she manages to say, and it’s not quite what she’d planned, not that she’s really able to formulate an answer right now. Misty’s always so overpowering, so overstimulating, sometimes Cordelia can’t think straight when she’s around. She doesn’t want to say _You’re my best friend_ because Misty’s practically her only friend and also much more important than that. She doesn’t want to say _I care about you, too_ because her feelings for Misty aren’t reliant only on Misty’s disposition towards her. They’re much more than that, and their intensity frightens Cordelia. 

But she’s safe here, in Misty’s arms like this. 

She wraps her arms tighter around Misty’s neck, squeezing the other girl against her, suffocating her racing thoughts with Misty’s presence and letting her heart rate soothe a little. 

“And I thought you weren’t a hugger,” Misty laughs, her own arms linking around Cordelia’s waist, returning the intensity of Cordelia’s embrace. 

“Oh, and who told you that?”

“The other girls think you’re all business, Delia. I don’t see you hangin’ off them like this,” Misty teases her, and Cordelia wants to tell her that it’s true. That Misty isn’t like the other girls, and she wouldn’t be doing this with anyone else, but she doesn’t quite know how. 

“You should be so lucky,” she settles on saying, steering them into lighter, safer territory. It must seem like a challenge to Misty, because next thing she knows Misty’s off the table, causing Cordelia to stumble backwards, still held steady by the strong arms of her counterpart. 

“Oh, yeah?” Misty goads her, and suddenly nimble fingers are wandering up her sides, lightly tickling her just enough to make Cordelia squeal and pull away. 

“Misty!” She laughs, batting at the younger girl’s hands as she tries to catch her breath. It only stokes the fire, however, and Misty follows her as she moves backwards, Cordelia’s contagious laughter spreading to the younger witch. 

“What, now you’re complainin’?” Misty continues to tease, laughing as she backs Cordelia up against the opposite wall. The headmistress stumbles into it with a soft _thud,_ letting out a surprised gasp at hitting the cool surface so unexpectedly. 

“Hey, did I hurt you?” Misty’s laughter stops momentarily, and her assaulting fingers patiently still themselves at Cordelia’s gasp of surprise. 

Cordelia stays quiet for a moment, letting Misty wonder, letting herself take a breather, before blindly reaching out to grasp Misty’s hands tightly in hers, grip as tough as steel. 

“There,” she laughs, a smile spreading across her face again. “Time out.”

“Oh, you play dirty, Delia,” Misty chuckles lowly, the rumble of her voice sending shivers down the headmistress’s spine. She makes an effort to break out of Cordelia’s grasp, tugging a little just to test Cordelia’s strength, and grins at the confident look on the older witch’s face. 

“You know I grew up pretty tough, though” she continues, stepping in closer to close the distance between the two of them, hands still tightly interlocked between their chests. “All that work, made me stronger than half the boys my age. And I’m real good with my hands.”

With that, she flexes her own hands out of Cordelia’s grip and takes the other girl’s slim wrists in her own, holding them firmly but not hard enough to bruise. 

“Now who’s playing dirty?” Cordelia breathes. 

They’re close, so close that she can feel Misty’s hot breath on her forehead. The cool drywall is still pressing into her back, keeping her steady and supported though her legs feel like jelly. She can’t move her wrists and what would have seemed terrifying to think about, especially without sight, doesn’t seem so scary in this playful game they’ve created. Misty’s grip on her wrists is unrelenting, but harmless. She trusts her. 

She’s so caught up in the presence of her closest friend that she doesn’t hear footsteps echo in the doorway of the classroom. Misty, however, catches the unknown figure entering the side of the room. 

“Hey. Who are you?” 

Misty’s voice sounds wary, like the stranger poses a threat, and Cordelia stiffens, wishing desperately that she could see. 

A scoff echoes throughout the high ceilings of the academy, and Cordelia feels herself deflate. She’d know that sound anywhere. 

“You must be _Misty Day,_ ” the stranger sneers, and Cordelia hears her voice grow closer. “Take your hands off my daughter.”

Misty doesn’t step away initially, and Cordelia can feel her body tensing, like she’s ready for a fight. She’s always been protective, that much is easy to see, and right now Cordelia feels like Misty’s putting herself in the way. 

“Your _daughter?_ Wait, you’re Fiona?”

She feels naked with Misty’s hands on her, now, an unexplainable rush of anxiety but there’s nowhere to turn to pressed against the wall as she is. Gently, Cordelia taps Misty’s arms, and the other witch steps away to give her space. 

“What are you doing here, Mother? Shouldn’t you be off with your new lover?” Cordelia throws out, crossing her arms over her chest. Fiona Goode has always been intimidating, but it’s gotten even worse now that she can’t actually _see_ her. 

Fiona waves off the question, barely looking at her own daughter before setting her sights on the younger witch. She advances on Misty, looking her in the eyes as she steps closer. 

Misty holds her ground. 

“So you’re the new witch I’ve heard so much about?”

Misty nods, her lips turned up in a pursed frown. 

Fiona’s quiet for a moment, looking Misty up and down while Misty holds her ground. Cordelia can only imagine what’s going down between the two of them. 

“Well, you’re… _something_.”

There’s clear disdain in Fiona’s voice and it makes Cordelia clench her fist at her sides. If only Fiona knew the extent of Misty’s powers, if only she had a small resemblance of the kindness that seemed to pour out of the younger girl. 

“Somethin’ you wanna say to me?”  
  


Cordelia’s never heard Misty angry, really. Not even towards others, rarely even Madison. But right now, Misty’s tone is low, steady and Cordelia can imagine she’s tense, poised for a fight. 

She’s felt Misty against her before, knows she stands a few inches taller than Cordelia herself does. She wonders if Fiona’s intimidated. 

It’s a ridiculous question, really. Fiona Goode isn’t intimidated by _anyone._

“And she has quite the mouth on her.” Fiona chuckles, steps moving closer to Cordelia’s spot near the wall and Cordelia flinches when she feels her mother’s hand on her chin, tilting it up. 

“They’re healing poorly,” Fiona murmurs, and a fingertip traced one of the fading scars near her temple. 

Instantly, Cordelia shivers away from her mother’s touch. Taking a step back, she feels a warm hand press against her back, supporting her just enough. Cool rings glide over fabric as Misty gently strokes her back. 

“Are you back?”

Cordelia’s tone is short, her sentence clipped. She doesn’t have time for small talk when it comes to Fiona. Thoughts of a plan she’s spent many nights thinking through rush through her mind- how she’ll do it, how _they’ll_ do it. 

  
She wonders how Misty will react when she tells her. Misty’s a gentle soul, but she can feel the tension radiating from the younger girl at Fiona’s presence. She already knows she’s on edge.

“For now.”

Cordelia holds her ground. It’s much more intimidating now, that she can’t see her mother. 

Well. It had to happen eventually, she figures. why not now?

* * *

  
  


“Hey. You busy?”

It’s a foolish question, really. Cordelia doesn’t have much to keep her busy these days, but she still appreciates her students asking, as if she has some sort of routine now that she can’t see. 

“Not at all. Come in, Zoe.”

The double doors to her office close and she hears timid footsteps approach her desk. Zoe’s always been a shy, mousy kind of girl- entirely too sweet for this type of world in a way different than Misty was. It makes sense, Cordelia thinks, that Misty was drawn to Zoe first, that Zoe brought her here. They both shared the same innocent nature. 

“Sorry to interrupt you. I just noticed that Fiona’s back.”

“She is.” Her mother had been on the back of her mind all day, as far away as Cordelia had struggled to push it. Fiona was never an easy one to get rid of, she doubted this time it would be much easier.

“What’s our plan?”

Cordelia swallows. Zoe’s straight to the point, completely on board. Bravery seemed scarce in the young girl initially, but she’s proven Cordelia quite wrong.

“We burn her. It’s traditional, for our kind. When one has done as much wrong as my mother has, as our Supreme has, this has and always will be their fate.”

“Do you…” Zoe pauses, and Cordelia hears the seat creak back and forth, like she’s rocking on it nervously. “Do you really think she’ll go willingly?”

“Of course not. Fiona’s just as stubborn as she’s always been,” Cordelia mutters. “This is where the rest of you girls will come in.”

“But she’s the _Supreme._ She’s more powerful than any of us.”

“But not more powerful than _all_ of us,” Cordelia cuts in smoothly. “If we all work together, Zoe, this isn’t impossible. I’ve been practicing a spell that I’d like to show you and the other girls. If used correctly, by enough powerful witches, it could present enough of a psychic block to render her useless of her powers for a night. That would be all we need.”

She leaves out the most important part of the spell for now. Quite honestly, Cordelia herself isn’t quite sure how to approach the ending.

“If you’re sure,” Zoe says quietly, and Cordelia wonders if she’s doubting her. She wonders if they all doubt her, now, since she’s lost her sight. 

She reaches her hand forward to place it over Zoe’s, to invoke confidence in the younger witch, yet instead of bringing power to her she reels back like she’s been burned.

The image she sees through Zoe’s eyes is disturbing. It’s herself, sitting at the desk like she is now, terrible scars scattering her cheekbones and eyelids. They’re starting to blister over, her whole face pale and red. It’s a disgusting contrast, and Cordelia feels she looks more damaged than ever. 

“That’ll be all, Zoe,” she says quickly, trying to shake the vision like she hadn’t seen it. Cordelia wasn’t a vain person by any means, however seeing herself in a state like this took its toll. 

Zoe excuses herself hastily, like she’s embarrassed by what the headmistress might have seen, and Cordelia doesn’t blame her. 

It’s not Zoe’s fault, what she’s become. It’s not even her own.

* * *

  
  


“Somethin’ botherin’ you, Delia?”

The sun has set, and it’s late in the evening now. Most of the coven has retired to their respective rooms, but Cordelia feels too enclosed in the quiet space now that she doesn’t have her books to keep her company. Now, she spends her evenings winding down in the majestic sitting room, reclining on the plush couch as she takes in the small noises that echo around the main floor of the academy. 

Recently, Misty’s been keeping her company. She’d set up the record player in that room- Misty had insisted on it being in the biggest room of the academy, giving her plenty of room to dance. Now, soft tunes filled Cordelia’s ears, intermixed with Misty’s quiet humming and the familiar, rhythmic thumping of her bare feet on the tile as she spun herself around the room. 

But Misty always took breaks, always took the time to sit with Cordelia and entertain her. Now was no different, and Cordelia feels the couch dip under the younger girl’s weight as she finishes her question, plopping down beside her. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“‘Dunno.” Misty shrugs her shoulders, and Cordelia can feel her cross her legs on the sofa, one knee resting on Cordelia’s as usual. “You look like somethin’s on your mind. Your mom, still?”

“It’s strange, having her here.” It’s an honest answer- it might not have been exactly what was bothering her, but it’s something. Cordelia feels silly at the thought of telling Misty what had happened earlier with Zoe. It’s pathetic, really, for her to worry about such things. She has bigger concerns than her appearance. 

“Come on, now. Thought we talked to each other, ‘bout stuff like this,” Misty says softly, so softly that Cordelia nearly confuses her words with Stevie Nicks’ echoing voice. “I sure talk to you ‘bout things like this.”

Cordelia’s lips tug upwards, recalling all the time she’d spent with Misty- in her room, in the greenhouse, outside on the steps- talking through her childhood. Naturally, she’d been curious, and the younger girl had been more than willing to answer every question. 

Misty _did_ confide in her, she was her friend. They were close. 

They talked about things like this.

“It’s quite childish, really,” Cordelia begins, looking down in her lap. “I was just speaking with Zoe earlier, and I touched her hand.”

“And?”

“I just…” Cordelia paused, wondering how to describe it. “You know how my gift of Sight works. I didn’t enjoy what I saw.”

“What’d you see, Delia?” Misty’s voice is concerned, now. “Somethin’ bad gonna happen to her?”

“No, nothing like that. I- I tried to say, it isn’t important,” Cordelia stutters, feeling her cheeks grow hot. She’s not sure why she feels so uncomfortable talking to Misty about this. Misty’s right, they confide in one another. This shouldn’t be _difficult._

“I just saw myself,” she finally gets out, letting out a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. “Through Zoe’s eyes. I forget about all these scars, and burns, and it just looked quite… otherworldly.”

“Hey, now.” Misty’s voice is softer, and she scoots even closer to Cordelia on the couch. One hand reaches out to grasp Cordelia’s in hers, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tight. “Don’t you dare say that.”

Cordelia shakes her head, wondering why it’s so easy to melt into Misty’s small touches like this, when before with Zoe it had brought her such torment. “Misty, you don’t need to comfort me. I’m not ashamed of it, it was just a reminder,” she says quietly, trying to swallow the unwelcome lump in her throat. 

“It ain’t nothin’ bad,” Misty says gently, her thumb stroking the back of Cordelia’s hand. “I swear it.”

“I’m _disfigured_ ,” Cordelia cuts in, a little harsher this time. She doesn’t need sympathy, now of all times. It’s bad enough she has to wear the scars like a crown of thorns. 

“No, you’re not,” Misty interrupts her, and her hands leave Cordelia’s before she can protest. Then two hands are cupping her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks, running gently over some of the scar tissue that had built up near her eyes. 

Cordelia stills, because she can see, _really_ see herself. She’s on the couch, wearing the same black turtleneck she’d been wearing earlier with Zoe in the office, but for some reason it doesn’t make the red around her eyes look so pronounced in contrast. The scars aren’t as large, aren’t as obvious, and her eyes blink clear and brown instead of a foggy grey. 

“You ain’t disfigured, or otherworldly, or any other name ya got for it,” Misty insists, and Cordelia feels tears spring in the back of her eyelids at the gently way Misty’s holding her face, running her fingers over Cordelia’s weakest spot. 

“Really, you’re not hard on the eyes at all,” Misty continues, chuckling a little, forcing Cordelia herself to laugh in return. “Not that it means too much, but I think you’re beautiful, Delia.”

Cordelia’s stomach flutters at Misty’s words. Her face still burns hot, even more so to Misty’s touch. It’s been a while, since someone’s called her that. That’s all it is, she tells herself.

“I wish I could see you,” Cordelia finally blurts out. “I can tell somewhat, what you look like, but I wish I could _really_ see you.”

“I ain’t too much to look at,” Misty laughs easily, but Cordelia shakes her head firmly in Misty’s grasp. 

“Now you’re the one who shouldn’t say that.”

“Nah, I’m bein’ serious, Delia,'' Misty chuckles. “Never had too many boys chasin’ after me.”

“Well, then it’s their loss,” Cordelia says insistently. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all.”

Misty’s thumb traces her cheek, and Cordelia blinks, seeing herself through Misty’s eyes yet again. She’s glowing, now, radiant in the dim light flickering from the fireplace. The scarred, pale face Zoe’s eyes had shown Cordelia has disappeared and Misty’s gaze has replaced it with something angelic, something Cordelia wasn’t _ashamed_ to see. _Somehow_ , Cordelia can barely even notice the scars around her own eyes. 

“Yeah,” Misty murmurs, her voice quiet, her gaze still trained on Cordelia. “Yeah, it is.”

* * *

  
  


Later in the week, Cordelia spends hours and hours with Myrtle in the coven’s old library, coughing as dust settles in both of their lungs. She’s determined to find the right spell to relinquish her mother’s powers, and subsequently, her cruel reign on the coven. Lacking her sight, she’s forced to turn to her wisest companion to help her page through the ancient spellbooks. 

“Don’t forget the Sacred Taking, my dear,” Myrtle reminds her a few hours into their relentless search. “You and the other girls must invoke that before you can even _dream_ of ridding Fiona of her powers.”

Cordelia just nods absentmindedly, her fingers skimming blindly over tattered pages of a leather bound book. She wishes _desperately_ that she could see the words she was touching. With Fiona back in the coven, it feels like she’s running out of time. 

“Please, Myrtle,” she urges when it’s silent once more. “I know I’ve read it somewhere. The gift of fire, something like it. I know it’s here, I just _know_ it.”

“Delia, none of your girls have mastered it,” Myrtle reminds her gently. “Even our very own Madison setting curtains aflame can’t begin to compare to the strength and poise required for this very spell.”

Cordelia knows Myrtle has a point, as much as it defeats her to hear it. The full spell is lengthy and painful in part. It’s meant to take a rising Supreme out of power before she can become powerful enough to rule a coven. If used with Fiona, Cordelia knows it’ll take everything she- and her girls- have got. It requires at least three witches who’ve mastered the gift of telekinesis to still the Supreme’s body and mind, concentrating enough to resist any psychic attacks coming from the Supreme herself. Once subdued, the witches must hold the bond for three hours exactly- no more, no less. On the strike of the third hour, one witch alone must set the Supreme aflame and hold the blaze for the next three minutes. 

If completed, the Supreme is burnt to ash and will be powerless to resist. It’s only ever been practiced once in the history of the coven, with a young witch who hadn’t yet fully rose into her prime, and even then it took fifteen girls to complete. The problem in the past, Cordelia had been taught, was holding the fire. Even the most gifted of witches couldn’t wrangle the consuming blaze for three minutes straight, balancing that narrow line between life and death and pushing her over the edge. 

Cordelia knows Misty could. She knows, if Misty let herself, she could easily be the most powerful among them. 

“Cordelia!”

Myrtle gasps in surprise, and Cordelia’s torn from her thoughts. A new book is pushed into her hands, and Cordelia takes it immediately. 

“I believe I’ve found it, my sweet girl.”

“Read it to me, please, Myrtle,” Cordelia urges, desperate to memorize it, commit each word to memory. She’s excited, now. Nervous, but excited all the same. 

  
She needs to protect her coven, her girls. This will be the first step of many taken to do so.

* * *

  
  


“Misty, _concentrate_.”

Cordelia’s tone is sterner than she one she normally reserves for her friend, but this is a more serious matter at hand. Misty’s reading through the spell, whispering the Latin quietly, getting stuck periodically, but Cordelia’s wary that she’s purposefully missing portions of it. 

“I am, Delia. I don’t know these words,” Misty complains, the book slamming down against the academy’s table yet again. 

Cordelia sighs, leaning her palms against the table and taking a deep breath.

“I don’t see why I gotta learn this.”  
  


“The gift of pyrokinesis.” Cordelia rubs her forehead. “You have amazing abilities. We need to refine them. I want you to know how to _use_ them, _all_ of them.”

“Yeah, then teach me all but this one,” Misty challenges her. “I know the other ones and you know it. I don’t see why this one’s so important to you.”

_Because we need you. Because_ you’re _important,_ Cordelia wants to say. 

_Because you’re the only one who can control that line between life and death._

_Because you’re the only witch powerful enough to set fire to my mother and keep it ablaze._

She can’t tell Misty that yet. She knows she’s not ready to hear it, much less do it. 

“Because you might very well be our next Supreme,” Cordelia decides to say instead, taking a seat next to Misty on the bench. “And to pass the Seven Wonders, you need to learn the art of pyrokinesis.”

“I never said I wanted to be the Supreme.”  
  


Misty’s not her usual self now and Cordelia can tell. She’s keeping her distance, even on the table where she’d normally cross her legs, letting them fall somewhat on Cordelia’s lap. It’s strange, not having that grounding weight that she’d become so accustomed to. 

“And Fiona’s the Supreme, anyways,” Misty continues. “I got no place doin’ somethin’ like that.”

“You are _gifted,_ Misty,” Cordelia says softly, bravely reaching out on her own to find Misty’s hand. Misty’s reluctant, at first, but as soon as Cordelia presses her fingers into Misty’s palm the other girl becomes receptive, lacing their fingers together tentatively. 

“So are you. Why ain’t you worryin’ about the Seven Wonders?”

“Because I won’t be our next Supreme,” Cordelia says smoothly. _Because I’m afraid I’d turn into my mother, and I know you wouldn’t._

“Damn shame. You’d make a real good Supreme,” Misty grins, and Cordelia feels the younger witch’s tension ease momentarily. 

“Would I, now?” She teases, squeezing Misty’s hand playfully. “I doubt I’d have the greatest _fashion_ sense for it. It’s getting harder to match my clothes as it is. I think I’d have to wear all black.”

“You hintin’ I should take you out shoppin’?” Misty fires back. “You’d look real good in some color, Delia.”

“You wear a lot of color, don’t you?” Cordelia questions, and she can feel Misty’s whole body move as the younger girl nods firmly. 

“Oh, yeah. There’s so much color all around us, we get all we know from flowers, from the earth, the sky, why waste it? The world’s too pretty to just wear black all day,” Misty frowns, and the simplistic, childish way she explains it makes Cordelia giggle. 

“Stevie Nicks wore a lot of black, you know,” she reminds Misty, and Misty groans in mock annoyance, fingers lacing more tightly around Cordelia’s hand and pulling her closer into her side.

“Only for a little bit, Delia! She stopped ‘cause she didn’t want people thinkin’ she was a witch!”

“Do _you_ think she was?”

“Stevie? She’s a witch.” 

Fiona’s voice cuts into their conversation, the laughter and giggles instantly dying away at the raspy voice of their Supreme. Cordelia’s hand suddenly feels hot in Misty’s, like her touch is burning. Why is it that whenever her mother enters the room she feels like a child caught in the cookie jar?

“They call her the White Witch for a reason,” Fiona continues, her voice growing closer to where Cordelia was seated. “She’s an old friend of mine.”

“You know Stevie?”

Misty sounds far too excited for a conversation with Fiona and it makes Cordelia stiffen. Misty’s too innocent, too good for this kind of world. She doesn’t know yet, what Fiona’s capable of. 

“Of course I do,” Fiona sneers, and Cordelia can smell the faint odor of cigarette smoke that seems to follow her mother wherever she goes. “I’m the Supreme. I know everyone.”

“What are you doing, Mother?” Cordelia interrupts before Misty can assault her with her next question. She knows if she gets Misty going on the topic, it’ll take her a while to stop.

“What do you think? I’m checking in,” Fiona scoffs, and Cordelia feels a cold hand ruffle through her hair. She stiffens further on the bench, dropping Misty’s hand. They’re too close, now. 

“Can I have a moment alone with my daughter?” The reigning Supreme says suddenly, directed straight to Misty. Cordelia wants to argue, but more than that she wants to keep Misty as far away from Fiona as possible. 

“Oh, yeah. Delia, I’ll be in the sittin’ room with Stevie,” Misty says softly, clambering up from her spot on the bench. She squeezes Cordelia’s shoulder affectionately as she leaves, and Cordelia breathes in that earthy scent that seems to follow the younger witch. So much more soothing, she thinks, than cigarette smoke. Yet, that’s what she’s left with as she hears Misty’s footsteps fade into the hallway. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Fiona’s question is hardly unexpected, but the harshness of her mother’s tone rattles her all the same. 

“You’d have to be more specific. I do quite a bit here.”

“Don’t play smart with me,” Fiona hisses, the bench creaking as she takes a seat across from Cordelia. “This spell that you’re teaching her?” 

The book slams on the table again and Cordelia freezes. 

“It won’t work. I know you think you’ve got it all planned out, desperate enough to kill your own blood to take my seat on the top,” Fiona spits. “You aren’t _strong_ enough. You weren’t even when you could see.”

“She is,” Cordelia says firmly, her blood still cold at the realization that Fiona knows she’s been plotting against her. “Misty-”

“Oh, please.” Fiona laughs, and Cordelia hears her lighter flick, another cigarette being lit in the already smoky room of the academy. “Your _lap_ dog there wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Don’t,” Cordelia mutters, her fingers clenching under the table into a fist. “Just because she doesn’t assert her powers with violence doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

“That girl is no _witch_ ,” Fiona scoffs again. “She brought herself back from the dead so she could dance around in her garden to bad 80’s records and eat out of your hand at the dinner table.”

“That’s not what she is,” Cordelia says defensively, knuckles white with tension. “She-”

“She grew up in a swamp. She isn’t a Supreme,” Fiona sneers. “You’re looking for a replacement, are you not? I hope you don’t think you’ve found it in her. She’s a weak link, Cordelia. She doesn’t _have_ what you think it _takes_.”

Cordelia thinks back to earlier, how she’d spent all week trying to entice Misty into learning a spell of pyrokinesis. Misty was so pure, so innocent, refusing to even practice the spell on a greenhouse mouse. She meant no harm, she refused to kill. 

“Get rid of her. And forget _this,_ ” Fiona spits one last time before her heels click rhythmically, fading out of the academy’s classroom.

Cordelia wonders what Misty might think of her, if she told her the spell she was learning was intended to burn their Supreme at the stake. She wonders how Misty would react if she knew she was the only witch powerful enough to do it. 

Fiona’s words echo in her head long after the cigarette smoke fades. 

She can hear Misty’s voice, two rooms down, singing along to her records, the airy sound carrying across the empty halls. 

_Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn’t you love to love her?_

_She rules her life like a bird in flight, and who will be her lover?_

  
  


Cordelia closes her eyes and lets the faint sound of Misty’s singing soothe her worried mind. 

* * *

  
  


She hasn’t quite yet mastered the art of seeing through others, but she’s trying. Sometimes, like earlier, she can catch glimpses of herself through Zoe’s or Misty’s eyes, but the visions are usually still blurry and only last a few seconds. It takes steady concentration, too, so it isn’t a walk in the park. 

But, she’s trying.

It’s easiest to see through Misty. Not only because they touch far more often than she touches the other girls, but also because she feels more connected to her, somehow. There isn’t resistance on the younger girl’s side. 

So it’s only natural that the first ‘movie’ she gets to see after she loses her sight is partially through Misty. 

They’re down in the sitting room, huddled in front of the large flat screen television and fireplace one evening. Initially, Misty had been reading to Cordelia- they’d nearly finished Pride and Prejudice- but Zoe and Madison had clambered down insisting on watching a new drama that had just been released. Nan and Queenie were right behind them, piling on the couches that surrounded the screen. 

Cordelia had initially gotten up to excuse herself to bed- it was growing late, anyways, and there wasn’t much use in just listening to a movie- but Misty’s hand gently clasped around her wrist, tugging her back down. 

“Hey. Don’t go nowhere. We’ll watch together.”

They were on the smaller of the three couches- Zoe and Madison on one, Queenie and Nan on the other, with plenty of space and leg room whilst Cordelia and Misty were somewhat pressed together on the smallest couch that slightly resembled a loveseat. Cordelia knows they’d be touching- they had been all throughout the last chapter of the book- knows that if she tries, she could probably at least catch the important parts of the movie through Misty’s eyes. 

“I’ll whisper to ya the whole time what’s goin’ on,” Misty urges, tugging on Cordelia’s wrist again. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I don’t wanna go to bed yet.”

“I’ll just be a bother. Stay, watch it with the other girls,” Cordelia suggests gently, still wary of the idea in general. It feels like one of those things that doesn’t quite fit her anymore since she lost her sight. 

“Won’t be quite as fun without your company,” Misty quips, and Cordelia’s lips curl up in the natural smile that Misty always seems to put on her face. 

“Just a few minutes,” she relents, although it didn’t take much convincing on Misty’s part. Even if she can’t see it, the warmth of the fireplace and Misty will be nice, will be enough to relax her and get her ready for bed. 

So she gingerly sits back down onto the plush loveseat, leaning back into the cushions. Instantly, Misty’s ring-clad hand finds her own, entangling their arms together and wrapping her fingers around Cordelia’s. It’s no longer an awkward movement for either of them, Cordelia’s so used to it by now. Before, she might wonder if she was moving too much, flexing her fingers the wrong way, or straining Misty’s arm due to their seated positions. Now, she’s more comfortable with it. Misty fidgets and shifts often, but she never seems to push Cordelia away. If anything, she seems to only grow closer. 

“Can you see, Delia?”

She blinks. It’s blurry, not quite focused, but if she strains she can make out the screen, can somewhat tell what’s happening. 

It’s interesting, getting to see that after having gone without for so long now. It’s not quite comfortable, and she doesn’t want to continue to strain her other Sight so far, but she can, in the very sense of the word, _see._

So she nods, gripping Misty’s hand a little tighter, thankful that the younger girl is so willing to do these things for her. It means more to her than Misty will ever know. Misty probably has no idea how much she means to her, Cordelia thinks, as the characters in the movie continue to drone on.

Relaxed, she tries to pay attention to what the characters are saying as time passes, but Misty’s quite warm and she’s already tired. Cordelia finds her eyes slipping shut, not that she was trying too hard to see anyways. Her head rests gently against Misty’s bare shoulder, and she’s _content._

She’s content, until she hears a giggle from the couch Madison’s currently sitting on. Seconds later, it’s followed by another.

“Don’t look so excited, Swampy,” the movie star suddenly speaks up in a snarky tone. Misty’s arm tenses against Cordelia’s side, alerting her counterpart immediately.

“What’re ya talkin’ about now?” Misty’s tone is defensive, and Cordelia feels like she’s missed an important part of the conversation.

“I don’t think you’ve blinked once in the past two minutes,” Madison replies, sassy as ever. 

Cordelia opens her eyes at that. She’s still intertwined with Misty, pressed against her, able to see if she strains. So, she tries. 

The screen is foggy, but she can make out the outline of a couple embracing. They’re kissing, and she realizes they both have long, light hair. They’re _girls_ , she finally sees, as the vision becomes a little clearer. It’s two girls, kissing _hard,_ kissing _desperately,_ backing up against a bed in a candlelit room. 

She feels Misty swallow.

“Why don’t you shut up and watch the movie?”

“I don’t think I’m as _interested_ in it as you are,” Madison shoots back, and Cordelia feels a low, unsettling feeling rise in her chest. Misty’s eyes are off the screen, now, flickering down to her lap where Cordelia’s hand meets hers. 

Her hands feel hot, now. She’s burning, everywhere they’re touching.

“You always gotta ruin everythin’? What’s your damn problem?” Misty threatens, her voice rising slightly. She’s full of unleashed stress, Cordelia can feel it. Her arm is tense, her shoulder flexed and ready. She feels like she’s about to shoot up out of her seat.

“Why are you so defensive? You two look real cute, curled up like that,” Madison sneers, and Cordelia’s stomach twists.

“ _Madison._ Stop,” Zoe mutters, and the room grows silent.

The movie is still playing, Cordelia can hear romantic, slow music coming from the speakers and she only wonders what’s happening on the screen. Misty’s stopped looking. Her eyes are downcast, focusing on the rug on the floor, and her arms are still tense.

Time drags, and a minute feels like hours. Cordelia isn’t sure how long it’s been before she clears her throat and removes her hand from Misty’s, slowly standing up and trying to gather herself. 

“I'm heading to bed, girls. Goodnight.”

She feels like everyone’s watching her, judging her. A collective goodnight is uttered from around the room, yet Misty’s is absent. 

“Want me to walk you up, Delia?” The younger girl offers, kind as ever, but Cordelia shakes her head. 

“I’m fine, Misty. Goodnight.”

She gets up the stairs and to her room all too quickly, the soft noise downstairs feels like it’s pounding and echoing in her head as she walks. As she enters her bedroom, alone at last, her cheeks still feel like they’re slowly burning.

The images flash through her mind, and although she’s not still touching Misty, not still seeing those images, she can’t get rid of them. Those two girls, intertwined and desperate, their blurry figures resembling someone a lot like herself. Swallowing hard, Cordelia swears she can still nearly _feel_ the smooth skin of Misty’s hand in hers, can smell that sweet, earthy tone that exudes from her counterpart. 

And Madison’s words… Cordelia was no fool. She knew exactly what the movie star was referring to.

Exhausted, Cordelia slumped back on her four poster bed, still breathing heavily. She’d never, _ever,_ let herself think about things like that before. Of course she’d known a few gay people in passing, but never closely. 

She wonders if Misty’s thought about it. She felt how tense she’d gotten, how defensive she’d been under Madison’s accusing tone. 

Maybe Misty had been thinking about it, then. Maybe she’d been watching those two women embrace on the screen and picturing Cordelia and herself, kissing like that, backing up against that bed.

The thought feels wrong, and Cordelia instantly feels guilty. She shouldn’t be thinking about her friend like that, shouldn’t be violating her trust that way. Misty’s as innocent as could be, pure happiness and sunshine, even though she’s been through so much trauma in her past. 

But a few of the moments they’ve shared together cross her mind, and Cordelia remembers Misty’s hands on her hips, chuckling as she backed Cordelia against the wall. She remembers Misty’s arm thrown across her stomach, whispering “Goodnight” as she nestled closer to Cordelia’s side. 

Like a lover’s embrace.

Cordelia decides, then and there, to let herself think about it, just _once._ She lets herself imagine that she’s sitting on her bed, just so, and Misty’s in front of her, standing between her legs. She imagines Misty’s calloused, ring-clad hands running up her sides, settling on her slim hips, pulling their bodies closer. 

She imagines tentative lips on hers, curly hair brushing against her cheeks, a warm body pressed against her chest. She can nearly feel it, if she tries, she’s thinking about it _so_ hard.

But she _can’t_ dwell on it. 

Cordelia sits up, shaking her head to try and rid the images from her mind. As she rises, intent on getting ready for bed, she feels an uncomfortable amount of wetness pool in her underwear. 

It’s funny, how she’d never really felt this kind of desire for her husband, yet she’s never even _seen_ Misty, she thinks to herself. Finding the humor in it is easier than accepting it at face value, and Cordelia decides that’ll be the last she thinks of this. She can’t afford to feel that way about someone. It’s new, unfamiliar territory and she’s dealing with enough of that as it is losing her sight.

That night, she tosses and turns as she dreams of soft lips and long, messy curls.

  
  
  



End file.
